Where There's Smoke there's Fire
by AllThingsInsane
Summary: AU. Sequel to "Through the Storm." Caleb is once again caught in the crossfire when the prosecution decides to go after him again. This time with charges that he and his attorney fear will stick. Follow him, Jim and the boys as they navigate through the events and circumstances that follow.
1. Chapter 1

**Where There's Smoke, There's Fire.**

Having ridden through the storm of his life when he was jailed briefly for suspicion of murder, Caleb Rivers honestly had the fleeting thought that if he could survive something like _that_, he could surly make it through anything.

The case, much to the prosecutor's chagrin, hadn't panned out the way he had initially envisioned it, and he had to drop the case due to a blatant lack of evidence.

It had been a miraculous turn of events, and one that Caleb certainly hadn't argued at the time. For a few weeks, he thought he would be staring life in prison in the face, and now for it go away?

It was as if Christmas had come early.

The best part, of course, was getting to come home to two smiling faces. Dean, at twelve, had been well aware of the events that had surrounded his leaving, and had been none too happy about it.

Sam, at seven (nearly eight), didn't share the same burden of grief that his older brother had shared. In his innocent mind's eye, Caleb had been away on an extended trip, something he had known his guardian to do over a period of time.

But he had survived; he had survived the forced confinement, and humiliation. It was supposed to be over, the prosecution had dropped the case.

But he should have known.

The other ball always dropped eventually. It was just a matter of when.

"Morning!" Sam said, bouncing down the stairs, wearing his new set of clothes for school, his backpack flying off his shoulders as he came to a skidding halt in front of his seat where his breakfast had been laid out.

"Hey, kiddo," Caleb said, smiling at the seven-year-old's enthusiasm, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Excited for a new day?"

"Yeah," Sam said, with a mouthful of cereal. "Miss Shandy is going to take us to the museum today.

"Fun," Dean said sarcastically, as he came down the stairs. "But hey, to each his own," he said with a shrug. "Pancakes?" his face light up at the spread before him. "Thanks!"

"Anytime, bud."

Caleb didn't want to divulge what he had just learned, in front of Sam. At seven, they were still trying to shield him from as much of his guardian's double lives, as they could. They didn't see the point in scaring him when he had his entire life to train, and be on the lookout for any demons or supernatural activity.

When breakfast was finished, both boys got their coats on to await their bus. Finally, their guardians had allowed them to ride the bus, now that they were a little older, (and in Dean's case, more prepared).

"Something wrong?" Dean asked quietly, once Sam had skipped out the door.

"I'll tell you later."

Dean hung back, clearly not comfortable with the idea of leaving when something was plainly happening, but he didn't have much of a choice, especially when the bus's horn honked, signaling a warning to hurry up.

"Okay, bye."

"See ya."

Sighing, Caleb dropped back down into his vacated seat as he ran his hand across his weary face.

The call had come early, much earlier than he had expected. And as a result, it had left him wide awake when it was much too early, and feeling jittery from the news he had received.

"Hey," Jim said, walking down the stairs, fixing his tie as he walked and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Something wrong?"

"You can say that."

"What?"

In their unique line of work, it could be anything. A new case, a death or a disappearance.

"Dawn called me this morning, early."

"About what?"

Caleb sighed as he folded his hands in front of his face. "The prosecutor that wanted to charge me with Lexa's death?"

"Yes?"

"He's back."

"For _what_?"

Caleb laughed humorlessly. "He found some stuff on me, and it might actually stick this time."

"What?"

"He found a trail of fraudulent credit cards, so they're gunning to charge me with credit card fraud, now."

Jim sighed, shaking his head. "What kind of a penalty is that?"

"A years sentence, maximum. And that's for each of the seven or eight charges they want to pin on me."

"I can't believe this."

"Join the club," Caleb said dryly. "And he found some new evidence to tie me to Lexa's death."

"Like what?"

"Footprints, mainly, but he's compiling that with the other evidence that he has in his arsenal."

"And the credit card fraud is just an extra he tacked on?" Jim demanded incredulously.

"Yeah. I have a meeting with Dawn in a few minutes, but I don't know what I'm supposed to say to Dean."

After all, it had only been a few months since he had been released from custody the _first _time around. He couldn't imagine seeing the crestfallen look on Dean's face if he knew he might go back.

"You base that discussion on what you learn from Dawn."

"Yeah, you're right."

* * *

Walking into the cafe where they had arranged their meeting, Caleb tried _not _to let himself panic when he saw Dawn sitting at one of the tables positioned directly by the door.

Over the course of a few years, they had become friends, not just client and attorney. He trusted her, and he knew there was a part of her that trusted him, as well.

"Hi," he said, sliding into the seat across from her.

"Long time no see."

"I wish I could say I was happy to see you," he laughed once.

In any other circumstances, he would have, but this was hitting a little too close to home for his comfort.

"I understand. So, they, the prosecution, has hired a new lead. One that's more seasoned in this type of thing."

"That's bad," he surmised.

"Yes. Mark Riley, he's a legal legend, and one that's been around for a few decades."

"Wonderful. So what am I facing, here, and what are the odds of beating it?"

"Well," she said, pulling out some papers from her bag. "That's kind of tricky. Right now, they _know _they have a strong case with the credit card fraud. They're gathering conclusive evidence, but it's a lock for them."

Caleb nodded. He had feared as much.

"What about a conviction? How bad would that be for me?"

"If the judge was willing to be lenient, you might be able to get away with serving those sentences concurrently."

"Which would be...?"

"A year for eight counts. If the judge isn't so forgiving, they would run consecutively, which would be the full seven to eight years."

"Right. And the murder case?"

"That isn't so great, either," she said with a grimace. "They had a new forensics team scoop the place, and they found some more DNA."

"Besides the blood?"

"Yes."

"Alright. So if they really want to hammer me, I'd be charged _again _with murder one, and the new credit card fraud charges?"

"Yes."

"Do you know if they've made a decision yet?"

"I do not."

"When should you expect it?"

"Within the next few days."

* * *

_This is the third and final sequel to "Through the Storm."_


	2. Chapter 2

Armed with the knowledge that Dawn had given him, Caleb left with a heavy, burdened heart. When the murder charge had been first brought against him, he had been in a perpetual state of shock, not entirely believing what was happening to him.

Now, he felt everything. He felt panicked, he felt scared that he would have to go through this emotional storm again, and he was afraid for the boys, for Sam and Dean.

He and Dean had always been bonded with each other, and now he was faced with possibly leaving him again? And what about Sam? There was only so much fabricating they could do, before he began to get suspicious.

Especially since he was older now, nearly eight.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he tried to forget it, at least momentarily. It wouldn't do him any good to dwell on it, even though it was almost impossible.

Anxiously twisting his wedding ring around his finger as he drove, he tried to imagine his life in prison, and he couldn't. That was where the most hardened of criminals ended up, not someone innocent.

And for the most infuriating of reasons. A shifter that was still haunting him long after its demise.

He honestly thought he had been done with the whole case. It had been dropped, he had finally avenged Lexa's death. It was supposed to be done.

Not so, according to the laws of the universe which insisted on tormenting him, apparently.

Thankfully, much to his relief, he was saved the troublesome task of obsessing about it the rest of the day, by a call for help from Sam. The poor boy was sick at school, and requested that Caleb come and pick him up.

Even though he felt sorry for Sam, he was relieved for the distraction this minor emergency afforded him. It gave him something else to focus on, something that didn't involve cell doors, and jumpsuits .

"I feel yucky," Sam moaned, as Caleb started the drive back home with his precious cargo in tow.

"I'm sure you do."

Sam hardly ever missed school. It was his favorite place to be, and Caleb knew he would have to be near death for him to want to come home early.

Once Caleb got him home, he stuck the thermometer under his tongue, and set up a mini-bed for him in the living room.

"Am I burning up?" Sam asked, using the words Jim often used when one of the boys was sick.

"You have a low grade temp, bud."

It wasn't awful, but he didn't want it to worsen, either.

"Is that bad or good?"

"Good for right now." 

"My throat hurts." 

"Alright, hold on."

Going in the kitchen, he retrieved the children's medicine, and a popsicle for fun.

"Here you go."

"Pills?" Sam asked, making a face. "Yuck!"

"It's a necessary evil, I'm afraid. Just take it really fast and you can have your popsicle after."

Giving him a withering look, Sam tolerated the pills so he could win the prize after.

Watching him carefully, Caleb put on one of his favorite cartoons, and waited until he fell asleep, before going in the kitchen and calling his doctor.

After being assured that Sam wouldn't need to be seen unless the fever and symptoms worsened, Caleb went back out to check on the sleeping child.

Thankfully, he was still asleep.

"Hey," Dean said, when he came through the door after school. "Where's Sam? He wasn't on the bus."

"He's sick," Caleb explained. "I picked him up after."

"Oh. What's wrong with him?"

"Not sure yet. I think it's probably just a cold or a virus. The doctor said to wait until when or if his symptoms worsened to see him."

"Okay."

Caleb watched as Dean made a quick jaunt out into the living room to check on his baby brother, before he wandered back into the kitchen.

"Is he still sleeping?" Caleb asked.

Dean nodded, as he got a soda out of the fridge. "So what was wrong this morning?"

"What do you mean?"

"You looked upset about something," Dean said with a shrug. "Is everything fine?"

"Um," Caleb said, trying to figure out what he would tell Dean. It was the last thing he wanted to do, bring another nightmare down on his shoulders. "Remember that prosecutor that wanted my ass?"

"Yeah," Dean said, as he took a sip of his favored soda. "Why?"

"He's back," Caleb said with a sigh.

"He is? Why?"

Caleb hesitated before speaking next. "They have some stuff on me, Dean."

Caleb was surprised to hear how small and uncertain Dean's voice sounded, as he spoke next.

"What kind of stuff?"

Feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes, Caleb hastily squeezed them away before continuing. "The stuff that might not go away this time."

A single tear slid down Dean's cheek uninterrupted as he sucked in a large breath, swallowing heavily.

"What now?"

"They have me linked to seven or eight credit card fraud charges, and those each carry a sentence of a year, and they have new evidence in Lexa's death."

Dean shook his head as he stared at Caleb incredulously. "I can't believe this."

He thought they were done with all this. He thought once Caleb had been cleared of the charges, the prosecutor would give up and wouldn't go after him anymore.

Apparently, he had been wrong.

"It's not anything I can help, Dean."

"I know, but why are they going after you _again_?"

"Because they have evidence, Dean, they have proof that I obtained those credit cards through fraudulent means."

Dean shook his head in astonishment, as he swallowed the lump in the back of his throat. "So what, they're just going to lock you up again? On something that doesn't even matter?"

"It matters to them, Dean, and I don't know. We're trying to figure out a way where I won't have to go anywhere."

"We've already been through this _before_!"

He had barely made it through the first time Caleb had gone. He had already lost so much in his life, that the thought of losing another person, was horrific to him.

It seemed that the universe just didn't care about that. All it cared about was tearing a family apart, a family that loved and supported one another through good and bad.

"I know."

Caleb didn't know what to say. It had hit him just as much by surprise as it did Dean, and he was powerless to stop this from happening.

It made him sick, but there wasn't anything he could do.

"Is that all they have on you?"

Caleb shook his head. "No, they more evidence from the murder case." 

"You've got to be kidding."

"I wish I was."

"Do you know if they're officially going to do this yet? Or not?"

"I don't know yet. We're supposed to know in a few days."

Dean nodded.

"Dean, the only reason I'm telling you this is because I want you to be prepared that this thing could go south really fast, and my hands are tied."

"I know," Dean said, not even attempting to stop the tears that flowed down his face.

He had tried to be strong, he had gritted his teeth throughout the entire conversation, and now he was done.

"Hey," Caleb said, stepping foreword and giving the heartbroken child a hug. "This isn't a for sure thing, Dean. I just want you to be ready so it won't come as some big shock."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said, inhaling a deep breath in order to try to regain some semblance of control.

"For right now, let's try to keep things in perspective and not worry until this actually happens." 

"Are you going to turn yourself in again?"

"I'll take that road when we come to it, right now I don't know. The same concerns still stand."

"Yeah, I know."

Running, the risk of being caught, yanking the boys out of their school. And while Dean didn't care about things, and Caleb knew that, they were also concerned about Sam, and how he would handle such a rough transition.


	3. Chapter 3

Talking to Jim in times of great upheaval or stress, was always something that Caleb tried to do whenever he was in doubt or in a funk about something. Even though they didn't see eye to eye on some things, he was family to Caleb, and sometimes he needed the older hunter's advice.

Especially since he didn't yet know about the new charges that were pending against him. So far, he had only been able to bring himself to tell Dean about it, but no one else.

It had only been a a day or since his discussion with Dawn, and even though he had tried his hardest to let it go until the final decision was reached, it was nearly impossible.

Every time the phone rang, he fully expected it to be her, letting him know that he had to pack up and transfer himself to a cell.

It was no way to live. He wouldn't wish the stress and the fear on his worst enemy, as he rubbed at the lines under his eyes, products of his inability to sleep at night.

"Hi," Jim said, when he walked through the door leading into the garage after work. "I brought pizza."

"Good."

It was fast and easy, and the boys absolutely loved it.

"Something wrong?"

"I have to talk to you about something."

"Uh-oh."

Jim set the food down on the counter before going and joining his friend at the dining room table.

Caleb's face was unusually pale as he turned to address Jim.

"I got a call from my attorney friend the other day."

"About what?"

Caleb sighed as he ran his hand across his face. "The prosecutor on the murder case, is back again. He's trying to hang credit card fraud charges on me."

"He _is_?"

Jim had heard of a witch hunt before, but this was tipping the scales in a major way. This prosecutor was out for blood, and that was obvious.

"Yeah. And he found new evidence in the murder case, too."

"What kind of evidence?"

"Forensics, mostly, but it's enough."

Jim sighed, shaking his head. "What about these credit card fraud charges. What kind of a penalty is that?"

"Depends. If I'm convicted and sentenced, it could either run concurrently or consecutively."

"What's the better option?"

"Concurrently, because then it would only be a year in lockup, versus the full seven or eight years the prosecutor is gunning for."

"What do you think is going to happen?"

"Knowing my luck as it is, I'll probably be facing something."

"Do you think you want to leave this time and take your chances like that?"

"I...don't know."

It had been an option before now. His love and concern for Sam and Dean outweighed anything that could happen to him in jail or prison.

Now, though, he was mad. This prosecutor was relentless, and he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had him where he wanted.

"Like Dean said, as long as we're together, it will be okay."

"What if they find me? Can you imagine the boys seeing me hauled away like that?"

That would be more traumatizing than him just leaving and taking his chances with trial.

"What if you just left until the heat died down?"

Separating their family had been inconceivable months ago, but now that the stakes were being raised higher, it wasn't such a bad thought anymore.

"I thought of it. But even if I _did _run, they would find me. My face would be all over the news, and I couldn't stay anywhere. I'd have to live out of my car."

"At least you would have a chance," Jim said quietly, studying him.

"And it would make it harder for Dawn to mount an effective defense."

It would make her job all that much harder if her client suddenly skipped town on murder and fraud charges. If not for the fact that he was sure he could win the case, he would have considered it more.

"That's true," Jim conceded. "So you want to go through all of this again?"

"Are you _crazy_? I'd rather slit my own throat, but I don't see where I have another option, here."

"When are you supposed to hear?"

"Soon."

Each second that went by that he didn't hear from Dawn, was a second that he spent worrying and obsessing over what could happen.

* * *

The evening had been enjoyable, fun. And for once since his whole ordeal had begun, Caleb was able to let go of the fear and uncertainty that had plagued him, and enjoyed Sam's soccer game.

At seven (nearly eight), he was a whiz out on the soccer field as he expertly kicked the ball around the field, around his opponents and into their net.

When he scored the winning goal, he let out an excited whoop that could be heard from clear over in the stands where his family was seated.

"Way to go, Sammy!" Dean said, running up to his brother and giving him a high-five.

"Thanks, De!" Sam said, using his nickname for his brother.

"You did awesome, buddy," Caleb said, lifting him up and giving him a hug.

"Thanks."

"Who wants some pizza?" Jim asked, as they started moving toward the car.

"Do you even have to ask me that?" Dean asked, as he rolled his eyes, narrowly avoiding the good natured punch that Caleb aimed at his shoulder.

"Good point."

The small family stayed up late at the pizza shack, laughing along with each other as they swapped stories, and listened to Sam's play by play replay of the game.

His happiness and pride was intoxicating, as they finally retired to their car and home. Sam was fast asleep by the time they reached the house.

"Don't wake him," Jim said, as he gently grabbed Sam out of the car and carried him up the stairs and into his bedroom.

"That was fun, wasn't it?" Caleb said, as he and Dean carried the remaining leftovers into the kitchen, where they deposited it into the fridge.

"Yeah. He's such a little goofball."

"He is indeed."

Caleb was tired. He dreamed of the moment when he would be allowed to go upstairs to his bedroom and collapse onto his bed.

When the phone rang, he glanced at Dean, raising an eyebrow, before answering it.

"Hello?"

_Hi, Caleb. It's Dawn._

"Hi," he said, trying to ignore his own palpitating heart as he swallowed convulsively. "What's going on?"

_The DA made their decision. We need to talk._


	4. Chapter 4

"What happened?" Caleb asked, feeling his heart palpitate as he listened to what she had to say.

_The DA is going to charge you with the eight counts of credit card fraud, and murder one._

Caleb sighed, as he let his body lean back against the counter. He needed something solid to steady him. He had been through it all before, but this time the stakes were even higher.

Life in prison, plus whatever sentence he would get for the fraud.

"So what happens now?"

He was keenly aware of Dean listening to every word he spoke, analyzing every word he spoke, since he couldn't hear the conversation on the other end of the phone.

_The DA is actually prepared to offer you a deal on the credit card fraud charges._

"What kind of deal?" he asked, as he glanced over at Dean.

Every time someone in a position of authority had offered him a deal, he had flat out rejected it. He didn't do anything wrong, and he refused to take the fall for something he didn't do.

Now, he was honestly reconsidering that stance.

_If you plead guilty to the eight charges of credit card fraud, the prosecutor will drop four of the eight charges, and the judge will allow you to serve the sentence concurrently, so it would only be a year in jail._

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he tried to imagine himself doing that, and while he couldn't even picture a year, it would be better than serving the full eight years.

"What about the murder case? I'm sure I'd be in there a hell of a lot longer if I get convicted of that."

A years sentence would mean nothing if he got a life sentence slapped on him. It would be preferable to just get the year over with, if he didn't have the murder charge to deal with.

_That's another story. The prosecutor is ready to go to trial with this. I'm trying to hold off on that as much as possible while we gather more contradictory evidence, but I don't know if the judge will go for it or not._

"Would it better to have a quick trial, or not?"

_Usually, it's not a good idea._

"Then how long would we be waiting?"

_A few months, typically, while we compile witness lists and forensic, as well as physical evidence._

Glancing over at Dean's expectant face, Caleb sighed as he shook his head at the mountainous decision he had to make.

"Are there any warrants out right now?"

_No, but it won't be long. We have to act fast with this._

"Can I call you back either sometime later tonight, or tomorrow?"

_Yeah, just make sure it's not too long. I don't know how long it will be before they issue a warrant._

"Alright, thank you. I'll let you know."

Hanging up the phone, he sighed as he turned to face Dean.

"What happened? What did she say?" Dean demanded.

"She said that, yes, they are going to charge me with murder one and credit card fraud, but if I wanted to plea my way out of a lengthy sentence for the fraud, I could."

Dean shook his head, blinking his eyes rapidly in order to avoid tearing up like his body was trying to urge him to do. "So are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you going to turn yourself in, and accept the plea?"

"I don't know, Dean. If I did that, it would be a years sentence. And that's only if I don't get convicted of the murder charge."

Dean shook his head in astonishment. "I can't believe this."

For so long, he had tried to be strong, and he tried to prepare himself for the worst possible outcome like Caleb had coached him to do, but hearing that it was actually going to happen, was something else altogether.

"I know. I asked her if I could call her back, let her know either later tonight or tomorrow."

"What'd she say?"

"To hurry before they put a warrant out."

A single tear slid down Dean's cheek uninterrupted, as it slid into his mouth, tasting like saltwater.

"What are we going to tell Sam?"

The cover story that they had cooked up for his benefit a few months ago when he had first gone to jail, had been believable at the time, because the confinement hadn't last as long as they thought.

What would they tell him if he ended up going away for an entire year? Plus if he got life in prison?

"I don't know," Caleb said, his voice breaking despite his best efforts to keep himself under control. "Something else, I think."

"I don't want you to go."

It sounded selfish, even to him, but he couldn't imagine going through this again, and knowing for a fact that he would probably not see him for a year.

"I don't either, Dean, but I'm having a hard time seeing where I have another option. I could run, but they would find me, and what would that do to you guys, seeing my face on the news?"

"It would be better than having you locked up for something you didn't do."

"I know, but this is not going to go away unless I do something to stop it, and if this is the only way to accomplish that, then I'd rather do that."

"So you're going to do it?"

"I'm still not sure. Probably, though," he added, as his tone softened upon seeing the heartbroken look on Dean's face. "I don't want this anymore than you do," he said, as he pulled Dean into a hug.

"You don't deserve this. You're _good_."

"And you know that. And Jim knows that, and Bobby, and Sam. This period in our lives, Dean, it's only a short time, it might not seem like that, but it will be over eventually."

Caleb was right, it seemed impossible that there could be a silver lining in all this, but he tried to see it from his point of view, because that was the only view that wouldn't drive him insane.

* * *

The talk with Dean had been even harder than Caleb had expected it to be. It confirmed his worst fears, that this separation would be just as hard on him, as it would be for Caleb himself.

While he wasn't a hundred percent sure that he was going to go through with it, his mind was all but nudging him to do it.

Going upstairs to the privacy of his bedroom, he sighed before calling Dawn back.

_Hello?_

"It's me," he said. "Uh, can I arrange a time to turn myself in?"

_When?_

"Tomorrow morning if possible."

_I'll see what I can do._


	5. Chapter 5

Turning himself in, willingly subjecting himself to months if not years behind bars, and all for something he didn't do. He knew that he had to plead guilty for the crimes he _had _committed, the credit card fraud, but that was a year.

And there was always overcrowding to factor in with a non-violent related sentence.

But he knew that if he walked into that police station in the morning, there was a very real possibility he might not ever walk back out again.

Murder upped the ante, it had been the sticking charge that had never been unstuck, and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass with a vengeance.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he held it there for a second as he tried to absorb the tears before they escaped past the folds of his eyes.

The thought of prison itself didn't scare him. It was the knowledge of all the things he would miss with the boys if he went. Birthdays, graduations, sleepovers and other milestones they had yet to achieve.

By turning himself in and diverting attention _away _from them, he knew he was making the better outcome for them, but it still tore at his heart to know that if he walked out the door, it would most likely be months if not the promised year, before he saw them again.

A year was a long time to be locked away, even without all of his pressing issues and concerns, but knowing how much things could change with the boys in a year, and how much they would grow, it scared him.

He was distracted from his musings by a quiet knock on the door. "Yeah," he said, by way of invitation to proceed inside.

Not surprisingly, it was Dean who poked his head inside. "Can I come in?"

"Absolutely," Caleb said, moving over to give him room on his bed to sit.

Dean did, as he swung his legs uneasily. "So what did you decide?"

It was obvious the suspense was killing him.

"I think I'm going to do it."

Dean nodded, looking down at the soles of his shoes. "I figured," he said, as he looked back up at Caleb. "You know, this plea deal is a joke, right?"

"I know."

"Then why?"

"You already know why."

Dean shook his head. "I still can't believe they're going after you _again_. Don't they have another family to tear apart?"

The thought had struck him too, but he knew what an easy target he was, and he knew that they wouldn't let a potential suspect go for anything in the world.

"I know, bud."

"Don't they understand," Dean said, his voice breaking as tears flowed down his face. "That you are the only family I have? That _this _family is the only thing I have?"

"They don't care, Dean," Caleb said honestly. "To them, I'm the one who has something to answer for, and they don't care if I'm guilty or innocent, all they want is something believable to feed to the media."

"Killer at large captured," Dean said sarcastically. "The town can sleep safely now."

Caleb smiled sardonically. "Sounds about right," he said, as he wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulder, pulling him close. "I don't want you to be scared, Dean."

After all, this life had so many horrors and thrills attached to it, that he didn't want Dean to have one more worry piled on his shoulders, but he knew that would be probably be a lost cause.

"That ship sailed a _long _time ago," Dean said with a scoff. "I _am _scared. I'm scared I'll never see you again, I'm scared of what will happen when you leave."

"I know, and if I could make those fears go away, I would."

"What will we tell Sammy?"

Even though Sam was incredibly bright for his age, he couldn't imagine Sam being able to process something so complex and horrific as his guardian going to jail.

That was where the bad guys went, not innocent men.

"Well, in the morning when I go, we'll figure out something."

Dean shook his head, his face and posture crumbling as his body shook with silent sobs.

"This can't be happening."

"I promise you, Dean, that even though it might be awhile, I promise that I will see you _both _again. And I don't ever break my promises, do I?"

"No," Dean said, as he wiped his tears with his sleeve.

"Alright," Caleb said, as he pushed himself off from the bed, and walked over to his walk-in closet, as he retrieved a silver hunting knife from one of the top shelves. "I want you to look after this while I'm gone."

He removed it from its holster, and carefully handed it to Dean for his inspection.

"Your hunting blade?"

Caleb hardly ever went anywhere without the blade. It was made of all silver, including even the silver handle, capable of repelling most spirits and evil.

"Yeah. It was the first knife I ever used, and it means a lot to me."

"Thanks."

Taking what little pride he could in the fact that Caleb trusted him with his most prized possession.

"Look at the handle," Caleb said quietly.

Confused, Dean turned it over and read the wording on it. His and Sam's initials were printed on it, along with their birthdates.

"Are you serious?" Dean whispered incredulously.

"You two are the most important people in my life," Caleb said, "and I want you to know that."

"I do. We do," Dean said automatically.

Over the course of the last seven or eight years, he had never once doubted Caleb or Jim's love for he and his brother. Their love had always remained consistent and unceasing.

"Okay, just so you know."

"What time are you...?"

Dean couldn't say the words, couldn't even associate them with reality yet. It was too horrific and devastating.

"In the morning, early."

"When are you going to talk to Sam?"

"Tonight."


	6. Chapter 6

Even though Caleb said that he would talk to Sam that night, he couldn't bring himself to do it yet. Instead, after he and Dean had finished their discussion, they went downstairs and tried to make as many, lasting memories as they could together.

Pizza, soda (even for Sam), and lots of laughs ensued, as Caleb tried to get what was coming in the morning, out of his mind. At the very least, he hoped that his subconscious would allow him that.

These boys, they deserved a really good memory to hold onto, not him walking out the door with pain and confusion written all over their cherubic faces.

After their tummy's were full to the brim with soda and pizza, they went downstairs where the large screen television was, and watched a movie of Dean's choice.

To no surprise, it turned out to be the latest Chuck Norris flick, one that Dean had been angling to see for months. And to Caleb's relief, the preteen absorbed the movie, paying attention to every single detail, and especially his idol.

"Chuck Norris is the _man_!" Dean exclaimed, once the ending credits rolled.

"He's boring," Sam said with a yawn. "Can we watch something about planes or cars?"

"Not when you have a superman like Norris, you can't. Right, Caleb?"

"He is right," Caleb agreed. "We can watch something you want now, if you want, Sam."

"Okay," Sam said with a shrug.

While Sam was sorting through his collection of movies, Caleb scooted closer to Dean.

"You doing okay?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I don't know how I'll be in the morning, but for right now, I'm okay."

Crying and throwing a fit wouldn't help, and he knew it. It would only exacerbate an already impossible situation.

"Just hang tight," Caleb whispered. "Maybe tonight, the three of us can have a sleepover down here, or in my room."

"Sounds good."

Any moment spent with him, he would surely treasure, especially if it would be one of the last he would ever spend. Feeling the irksome tears come on, Dean shoved them back with as much brute force as he could.

When Sam had finally chosen a cartoon movie to watch, Dean endured the childish flick as best he could for his brother's sake. Once it was done, they had a discussion about the special sleeping arrangements for the night.

"You want to grab your stuff and sleep in my room tonight?"

Dean shrugged. "Sure."

It would certainly be comfier than sleeping on the floor in the basement. Going upstairs, he gathered his and Sam's stuff and transported it to Caleb's room.

Once they had gotten situated on his bed, with Caleb in between the two of them, he pulled out some of his biking and ammunition magazines, and showed the two of them the impressive pictures inside.

"Did you ever have a motorcycle?" Dean asked, as he looked at one of the pictures of a Harley.

"I did once, yeah. Right after I got married, I sold it."

"Why?" Dean asked, as he made a face.

"Money, dude," Caleb said with a laugh.

"Oh," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Duh."

This was perfect, this moment that he was sharing with the boys, was absolutely perfect. It was light, carefree, and for once, he was able to relax and for a brief second, forget what was coming in the dawn hours.

"Can I ride a motorcycle?" Sam asked, as he looked up at Caleb with those large, expressive eyes of his.

"I think we can arrange something," Caleb said softly, as he pulled Sam tight against his side.

After that, Caleb switched to the ammunition magazine. There wasn't a lot in there that would interest Sam, but all of the illustrative pictures greatly intrigued he and Dean.

"You see the Winchester gun?" Dean said, pointing at the rifle on the page.

"Yeah, I do, I actually shot that once."

"You did?"

Caleb nodded. "I did. A few years back, it wasn't as good as some of the guns we have here, but it was pretty good."

"Awesome. What about this Glock?"

"Too expensive, and not as much power."

"Oh."

Sam leaned over Caleb's other shoulder, peering at the pictures that seemed to mean so much to his brother and guardian. "How do you guys know which gun is the right one?"

"It's an art," Caleb said, "it takes practice and experience to know which ones are the right ones."

"Oh. Okay."

They sat up reading for a little while longer, until they could hardly keep their eyes open any longer.

Since Caleb's bed was a large Queen size, they were able to sleep and have plenty of individual room.

This was nice. They had done it before when they were younger, and now that they were doing it again, it felt nice for Dean.

Sleep was hard to come by, but he eventually dozed off to meet the rain maker a little after midnight when his eyes, already feeling like bricks were weighing down on them, closed due to the pressure.

* * *

When Dean woke up the next morning, he almost wished he had never woken up, that he could continue sleeping and forget what was coming that morning.

Squeezing his eyes shut in determination, he rolled over groggily as he came in contact with Caleb's side. He was still sleeping, his chest rising and falling gently as he slept.

Sam's arm was draped lazily across his chest, as his soft snores filled the otherwise silent room.

" Good morning," Caleb murmured sleepily, opening one eye and glancing over at Dean.

"Don't say that," Dean muttered, finally resigning himself to fate, and opening his eyes, and sitting up straighter.

Caleb didn't respond, as he gently shook Sam awake. "Time to wake up, buddy."

Sam sighed, moaning as he was shaken back to reality. "Is it?"

"Afraid so."

Caleb was the first to leave the bed, as he got on his day clothes, which consisted of simple dark jeans, and a t-shirt.

Dean was much slower to get up, still denying the horror of what was to come, as he moved lazily around the room, taking a fast shower and getting his clothes on for the day.

"What are you going to say to him?" Dean whispered to Caleb, as they watched Sam bounce excitedly around the room.

"I don't know yet."

Caleb had been dreading the entire conversation ever since he had first made the decision about turning himself in. It would be hard, seeing Sammy's little face crumble with the knowledge he wouldn't be back for awhile.

And he would have no idea how much the conversation would torment his guardian.

"Well, we better face the music," Dean said, shaking his head as he fought to keep his tears at bay.

"I know."

Caleb waited until they were downstairs, and had breakfast before he turned to face Sam. "I need to talk to you about something, bud."

"Okay," Sam said with a shrug.

"Um," Caleb said, as he paused, looking away from the inquisitive seven-year-old to regain control of his emotions. "I have to go on another one of my trips."

"You do?"

Caleb nodded. "I don't want you to be sad, Sammy, but I might not come back for awhile."

"Why?" Sam asked, his voice uncharacteristically small.

"Well, because the kind of place I'll be, I have to do a little more work than usual."

"Can you call?"

"I'll try," Caleb promised, "no promises, though."

Sam nodded, swallowing roughly. "Okay."

"I want you to know that whatever happens, I love you so much."

"I love you, too."

Reaching over to where Sam was, Caleb enveloped him in as tight a hug as he could manage without actually hurting the child.

"And I want you to be good while I'm gone, okay?"

"I promise."

"Cross your heart?" Caleb asked, as a single tear slid down his face.

"Cross my heart," Sam vowed, as he touched his heart.

"Good boy."

When the time came for him to leave, he hesitated as he threw on his coat. Looking back at the boys, he knew very well that it would be most likely be awhile before he was granted the opportunity to see them again.

It was hard to face that.

"Come and give me a hug," Caleb said, beckoning Dean over to him.

"I love you," Dean whispered against Caleb's leather jacket.

"I love you, too, bud. Always."


	7. Chapter 7

Charming.

Nice.

Devoted.

Protective.

Proactive.

A fighter in the truest sense of the word.

Most people on the outside, the ones that you keep at arms length, only know half of the real story. They only know the facade that you have built up around yourself, shielding yourself from the cruelty and harshness of the world.

Friends of Dean's only knew the nice things about him. They knew how hilariously funny he could be, and fun when they went out to their various spots around town.

They knew that he was extremely competitive, and loved talking about cars and other machinery of that nature.

But what they didn't know, were the things that Dean only kept sequestered inside his own home. The parts of himself that he only shared with himself and his family.

Sensitive.

Loving.

Angry.

Challenged.

And hurt.

Not just physical pain, that paled in comparison to the _other _hurt he had to endure on a near daily basis. Sometimes it was easier to deal with than other days, but at times like this, times where he was so emotionally battered, it came up unexpectedly.

He knew loss.

Longing.

Losing his parents at four and five, and now losing yet another member of his family. Though not biological family, Caleb, Jim and Bobby were the only stable influences he had, and they together had created a strong, family unit.

"Dean?" Jim said, jolting him out of his thoughts. "Are you alright?"

Dean shook his head, closing his eyes against the pain as he tried to get a handle on it.

It was more than losing Caleb.

It was putting a dent in their family unit. There couldn't be one without it being whole, there couldn't be a sense of purpose, of it being okay, if someone vital to that circle was missing.

"I can't stand this," Dean whispered brokenly, his hazel eyes flooding with tears as he tried halfheartedly to wipe them away.

"Dean," Jim said, taking a seat next to the fractured child. "I need you to believe that things will work out."

"We've already been through this, and now what? They want to go after him because he's the easier target?"

Dean wasn't an idiot.

He knew that Caleb's love for he and Sam, blinded him. It made him lose all compunctions of self-preservation as he did everything in his power to make sure _they _were safe.

"I don't know why this is happening, but you need to have _faith_."

"No," Dean said, leveling with him as he looked him square in the eye. "I _can't_, not when I have lost _another _person," he said, as tears flowed down his cheeks. "When Sam has lost another person."

"Things will work out-"

"Just stop saying that! Because it won't! Nothing will ever be okay again. He's in a place he doesn't belong in, because of something that son of a bitch monster did!"

He was angry.

He had never felt so angry in his entire life, as he literally saw red in his line of vision. It was infuriating that, for the first time, a monster had gained the upper hand, and had caused far-reaching consequences even long after its death.

"Do you think Caleb would want you to be this miserable? Do you think he would want you to be so devastated?"

Dean shook his head, trying to take a deep breath to ebb his tears, to avail.

"D-don't," he whispered, "don't talk about him."

In addition to the almost overwhelming anger that was clouding him, he was completely and utterly heartbroken.

Caleb was more than a guardian, someone who looked after he and his brother. He had become, in the last seven or eight years, a father figure, someone who made him feel proud, who praised him with his accomplishments, and reprimanded him when he was disobedient.

He was a friend and confidante.

And he had lost that.

This world, for all its cruelty hadn't seemed that harsh, as long as he had his family intact.

Now what?

"Dean, you have to _calm down._"

"How?"

"Imagine seeing him again, imagine seeing him after all of this over."

"What, years from now? Months?"

"I don't know that yet, but I _do _know that you have to think of something else. _Anything _else."

It had only been a few hours since Caleb had turned himself in, and if the pain was this bad now, Dean couldn't imagine how he would feel weeks or months from now.

"Dean?"

He sighed, wiping as many tears away as he could when he heard Sam's voice drifting from downstairs as he came up.

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Why are you crying?"

"Your brother is going through some things right now," Jim said reassuringly. "He'll be alright."

Sam still looked uncertain as he came over and wrapped his short arms around his brother. "I don't know why you're sad, Dean, but I hope this brother hug will help you."

Dean nodded, as he returned the hug. "Thanks, Sam, it did."

Sam smiled, clearly overjoyed that he had been able to cure his brother momentarily of whatever had been upsetting him.

If only he knew.

If only he could understand the gravity of the situation.

And Dean knew that if Caleb was convicted of murder, they would have to come up with something else to tell Sam.

Jim let Dean take the rest of the week off school; he was grateful.

It would be one less thing he had to worry about on his long list of worries.

Nighttime was the worst for him. All the darkness did was give him time to think. And that was something he avoided whenever possible.

As he tossed and turned on his bed, images of Caleb in cuffs and shackles entered his mind, and it made him want to throw up.

If anyone deserved that, it would be _real _criminals. Not him.

As he turned over on his side, tears flowing down his cheeks and staining his pillow, he tried to replace the negative images with positive ones.

Ones that didn't give him a splitting headache, for one.


	8. Chapter 8

Bobby arrived the following day from Sioux Falls. His presence did little to distract Dean from what had happened, but at least it temporarily dried his tears, and even brought on a small smile.

In an effort to keep himself under control for Sam's sake, of course, Dean threw himself into doing the kind of things that he normally would have loved.

Training, for one.

It wasn't the same without Caleb's calm guidance, but he tried to find any measure of peace from it that he could, as he tested out the different weapons in his arsenal, appreciating the smooth feel of the gun under his palm, and the power it held.

For the physical training, the kind that required a series of complicated kicks and punches, he would need an accomplice.

Bobby was a willing participant. Anything to make the load on Dean a little lighter, as they went downstairs to where the workout equipment was stashed.

"I haven't been down here in awhile," Bobby commented, as he stared at all the new additions to the place. "Nice TV."

"Thanks," Dean said with a shrug, as he tied his boxing gloves on. "Okay, do you know the routine?"

Over the years, he and Caleb had an established routine with shooting and physical combat. It hardly varied, except for when Dean was ready to advance to the next stage of training.

"I'm fairly sure I do," Bobby assured him, squeezing his shoulder. "Five minutes on the punching bag, and then you get to spend the next _ten _minutes wailing on me with the gloves on."

Dean nodded, sniffling slightly. "Yeah, that's right."

Taking a deep breath, he tried to keep himself under control. Crying wouldn't affect anything. It wouldn't bring Caleb back, no matter how much he wished that could be true.

He had allowed himself to break down the day he went, but he didn't see the point anymore. It wouldn't help, and it wouldn't solve his situation.

"Alright, show me what you got."

Dean nodded, as he sidestepped near the punching bag, like Caleb had taught him. Aiming a perfectly aligned punch, he felt the satisfying _crunch _when his fist connected with the hard plastic of the bag.

"Good," Bobby praised. "Keep it up."

As Dean threw each punch at the bag, it almost became therapeutic for him. As he attacked that bag with every ounce of strength he possessed, he felt a little of his anger begin to slow down.

As the bag met his fist, he felt a release that he hadn't felt in a long time, as he finally found a productive way to take out his anger.

He was still heartbroken, still reeling from the horror of what had taken place, but his anger, which had been bubbling just beneath the surface, had sunk down as he exhaled in relief.

It was obvious Bobby saw how much the workout had helped Dean. He chuckled, as he walked up to the hyped up child. "Did you some good, didn't it?"

"Yeah, it did."

Sweat was dripping off his forehead, but he didn't care. Not in the least.

He still wanted to go on.

"You want to go head to head?"

Dean nodded, running his tongue over his cracked lips to moisten them. "Yeah, you bet."

As he turned his entire torso to face Bobby, he imagined that his foe was the prosecutor, and he was pummeling him to within an inch of his life for his role in taking Caleb away.

"Start off easy, and work your way up," Bobby warned.

"I know."

As he screwed his face up in concentration, he remembered the techniques that Caleb had taught him. They were highly effective for taking a human foe down, but useless when wrangling with anything else.

That didn't matter, then.

All he wanted was to work more of his anger out, as he took a sharp hit at Bobby's face.

He was prepared, though, and easily performed a counter attack that blocked Dean's efforts. Unfazed, Dean rebounded easily as he aimed a punch at his liver.

It was a taboo attack, but he was feeling cocky as adrenaline surged through his veins.

"Good!" Bobby said, once Dean had finally stepped back. "That was one hell of a workout, kid."

"Thanks. And thanks for being the one to take me on."

"Anytime."

Dean gave him a half-smile as he took off his boxing gloves, and put them back where he had previously stored them.

"Tomorrow, do you think I can work outside?"

"Don't see why not."

Dean nodded. "Cool."

"How have you been holding up?" Bobby asked after a few seconds.

Dean shrugged. "Ask Jim. I'm sure he's talked about it."

"Well, I'm asking you."

"I feel like hell."

No sleep would have that effect on someone, and he had only gotten the bare minimum to get him through the night, without resembling a zombie in the morning.

"I'm sure. Jim said that you and Caleb and Sam had a good time the night before he went."

Dean nodded, turning his back to Bobby to get rid of the ever present tears. "Yeah," he said, once he trusted himself to speak. "It was good."

"Dean, I just want you to know-"

"I don't really want to get all touchy feely," Dean said, shaking his head. "I can't go there right now."

"Okay," Bobby said, respecting his bounds. "That's completely fine."

"Come on," Dean said, giving him a friendly shove. "Let's go get some of that pasta."

"You're on."

* * *

Caleb had been in lockup for three days, ever since he had turned himself in. Walking in there, had been the hardest decision of his life, but he had trusted the advice of his lawyer, and his gut.

Now, his arraignment was upon him. While he knew it would be a formal reading of the charges against him, he also knew that he would be expected to plead guilty to the credit card fraud, and it scared him.

It scared him to hear those words, that he would be in jail for a year, barring any unforeseen miracles that came his way.

The proceedings were being held in the jail courthouse, for which he was grateful. Of course, since he was considered to be a suspected murderer in the eyes of the law, he had to be cuffed and shackled as the emotionless guards led him through the intermingling halls until they reached their destination.

The courtroom was mostly empty. Caleb was grateful for that. As the guards led him to where Dawn was, he briefly glanced around the galley, where some spectators were seated.

His hunter senses were on high alert.

And he didn't know why.

"Are you okay?" Dawn whispered, once the guards had walked away.

Caleb shook his head.

He felt nauseated as he stared at the judge.

The judge began the hearing by addressing the most pressing concern, which was the murder, which was the more severe of the two charges against him.

"Alexia Branch was found brutally murdered in her apartment," lead prosecutor Mark Riley said, as he dramatically paced the room at large. "Throat was slashed, signs of a struggle."

Caleb looked away from him, as he focused on his breathing. Hearing a verbal reenactment of her murder, was making him sick.

"No signs of forced entry. Someone that she knew, and her assailant was clumsy enough to leave behind the murder weapon," he announced, holding up the clear evidence bag which showcased the murder weapon. "Now we have footprints, matching the same sole and size of the person standing directly behind you."

Caleb shook his head.

This was so wrong on so many levels. This prosecutor was reaching so far into the stratosphere of improbable, that he could have laughed if he wasn't so scared.

"How does the defendant wish to plead?" the judge asked, once the prosecutor had finished his case.

"Not guilty," Caleb said.

After that, came the issue of the credit card fraud. He knew the risk he was taking in pleading guilty, and it scared him.

"How do you wish to plead?"

"Guilty," Caleb said, with a sigh.

Because he plead guilty to those charges, the judge automatically sentenced him to a year in jail, with credit for time served, which had only been a few days.


	9. Chapter 9

A year in prison. 364 days, twelve months and whatever days he got off for time already served. It was a startling new reality for Caleb, who couldn't fathom spending another day in that hellhole, let alone a year.

And that of course, was contingent on him not getting convicted of a murder one charge. That would give up his sentence to a full life term, rending it impossible for him to see the boys, or his family without the confines of cuffs and security.

Dawn had assured him that, if he was acquitted of the murder charge, he would most likely only serve a few months of his year sentence due to overcrowding, and the fact that his crime wasn't considered a "violent" one.

As he sat solitary in his cell, he let the tears that he had been suppressing for so long, come down his face uninterrupted.

It was over.

He wouldn't see the boys for an entire year, or however long the jail officials decided to keep him there.

He wouldn't see their angelic faces in the morning, wondering what the days adventure would bring, their expressive eyes so full of curiosity and wonder.

Those boys meant the world to him, and he missed them more and more every second he was there, and they were at home.

Looking down at his orange jumpsuit, he couldn't believe he was forced to wear that. It didn't _belong _on him, it belonged on someone who actually deserved it.

Not someone like him.

Someone innocent.

Nights were hard for him. All the darkness did was remind him of the fact that he was prisoner, that he couldn't freely get up and walk around. He was sequestered in a small cell, with a cot and a thin blanket and pillow.

It would certainly take him time to adjust, and he knew that.

Day was a little better. The inmates of cell block D were allowed to come out of their cells to eat breakfast, and receive visitors. Since he was still technically in the intake process, (which was when inmates were still being processed in the jail), he wasn't allowed to receive visitors yet.

He couldn't wait for that blessed day.

When it finally _did _come, he wasn't too surprised to see Jim behind the thin sheet of glass. Truth be told, he had been anxious to see the older hunter, he was his only connection to the outside world, and the status of the boys and how they were faring.

"Long time no see," Jim said gently, "how are you?"

Caleb shrugged, lifting one shoulder. "So-so. How are Sam and Dean?"

"Good, they're doing alright," Jim assured him.

"How is Dean holding up?"

Dean had had the hardest time accepting Caleb's absence, because he _knew _that he wasn't going away on a trip like he had told Sam. Dean knew the truth, and it had horrified him.

"That's a tricky situation. On some days, he's okay. And then on other days, he's a wreck."

Caleb nodded, he had figured as much. "What about Sam?"

"He's completely fine."

"Good. Just uh," Caleb said, as he scratched a spot behind his neck. "Tell Dean that I love him, and that I'll see him when I get out."

"I will."

Caleb nodded. "I had my arraignment."

"How did that go?"

Jim knew the gist of it. The arraignment would be a formal reading of the charges, and possibly a bond amount would be set.

"Good. I plead guilty to the credit card fraud, and not guilty to the murder."

Jim nodded understandingly. "What about bail?"

Caleb laughed humorlessly. "Yeah, right. I got a year sentence slapped on my wrist."

Jim nodded, looking down momentarily to collect his thoughts. He couldn't imagine having to return home to Dean, and inform him that Caleb wouldn't be home for a year.

"Is that a guaranteed sentence?"

Caleb shook his head, folding his hands over one another as he thought. "If I get time off for overcrowding."

"Otherwise, no?"

Caleb nodded, a tear momentarily shining in his pupil before he wiped it away. "Yeah."

"When does the trial start?"

"I don't know. A few months from now."

* * *

Every day was a challenge for Dean. From the time he woke up to the time he went to bed, he practiced being calm, putting a smile on his face, even when he felt like doing the exact opposite.

It had been nearly a week since Caleb had turned himself in. And while his decision hadn't been a surprise to him, it had still stung like a bee when he was brutally reminded of the fact that he would be losing another member of his family.

While not dead, Caleb was still being forced _away _from him, banned from seeing he and his brother.

It hurt.

And while the first few days after he had gone, had been among some of the worst, he had gotten better. Slowly but surely, he was learning to put a lid on his emotions until he could safely deal with them later.

Having Bobby there to keep him on his same training schedule, helped.

It helped to do something familiar; comforting.

Even if his trainer and guardian wasn't there to oversee it.

"Hey," he said to Bobby, when he had returned home from school. "Where's Jim?"

"I don't know, he probably stopped somewhere after work."

"Oh."

"How was school, idjits?"

"Good," Sam said cheerfully, as he distributed his bag on the kitchen chair, and claimed some of the snacks that Bobby had set out for them.

"Dean?"

Dean shrugged, as he munched on a carrot stick. "Good."

"Well, that's good."

Dean was doing okay, he was calmer than he had been in days, and was focused solely on his little brother, the one thing that somehow always managed to calm him.

"Hi," Jim said, as he walked through the door.

Unfortunately, his moment of peace wasn't meant to last forever.

"Hey," Dean said, through a mouthful of food. "Where were you?"

"I had to go some places after work."

"Oh, cool."

Jim sighed, as he laid a hand on Dean's shoulder.

Dean looked up, surprised at the sudden touch.

"We need to go talk out in the living room."

Dean nodded slowly as he rose from his place. "Yeah, okay," he said, wondering what all this was about.

He followed Jim out into the living room, casting curious glances at his back, before he stopped and turned to face him.

"I just didn't want to say anything in front of your brother."

"About what? What are you talking about?"

Jim sighed, as he ran a hand through his hair. "I saw Caleb today."

"You did? How is he?"

"Good, he's good, and he wanted me to tell you that."

Dean nodded, trying to take as much comfort as he could from that. "When is he coming home?"

"Dean, he had his arraignment, and he plead guilty to the fraud charges."

"What does that mean for him?"

"I'm sorry, the judge sentenced him to a year in jail, Dean, and his trial on the murder charge, isn't going to start for another few months at least."

Dean was sure he had heard him wrong, but then why was his heart beating fast like he was about to start crying? And why were his eyes welling up with tears _again_?

"Are you _serious_?"

"Yeah," Jim nodded. "I am."

Dean shook his head, as he tried to keep a lid on his emotions, but it was a fruitless battle. "No," he whispered, "no."

"Dean, come here," Jim said, moving foreword to try to give him a hug.

"No, don't," Dean said, as he turned from him, and ran up the stairs to his bedroom.

Once he was safely enshrouded in the privacy of his bedroom with the door locked, he allowed himself to break down, as his sobs filled the otherwise silent room.

The hamster he had been gifted with for his birthday, looked at him out of the corner of its sleepy eye, no doubt wondering what in the world was wrong, and why it couldn't wait until nighttime when it would be more awake.

As Dean clumsily made his way over to his bed, he turned over on his side as he wrapped his arms around himself.

In many ways he had been prepared for an outcome like that, but in so many other ways, it stunned him and shook him him to his core, knowing that it would be months, if not a whole year before he saw Caleb again.

He had no idea how long he stayed like that, crying until he just couldn't anymore. When a knock at the door brought his attention back to reality, he shakily got up, wiping his nose on his sleeve, as he walked.

"Hey," Jim said, holding out a plate of food for him. "Can I come in?"

Dean nodded, as he held the door open for him. "Sure.

"We're a family, Dean, and even if one of us is missing from that equation right now, it still doesn't change the fact that we keep on fighting, we keep on living, that's what Caleb wants us to do, and that's what we will do."

"I know. It's just so hard."

"I understand, but you will see him again."

"Okay."


	10. Chapter 10

Immediately after his sentence, Caleb was transported from the county jail to a detention center a few miles outside of town to serve out his sentence.

Being transferred out of county and to the detention center, made the whole thing feel even realer, as he tried to adjust to their new rules and regulations about certain things. Things that hadn't been an issue in a low security county jail.

The layout was similar to the county jail, but much stricter and much more confining. When before, he had been allowed out at regular intervals to make phone calls, or speak to his attorney, visits and calls were strictly monitored and supervised.

That wasn't surprising-being a suspected murderer, security would be heightened considerably for him.

The one exception, for which he was grateful, was that he and Dawn had unlimited visiting hours due to the attorney/client act, which allowed her unlimited access to her client to discuss the upcoming trial, and the proceedings related to it.

"Hi," Dawn said, once she had been granted access. "How are you holding up?"

It was the first time she had seen him since his transfer the day before.

"Alright, I guess," Caleb said, shrugging with one shoulder.

At least he wasn't falling apart at the seams, like he had felt like doing immediately following his arraignment.

"I wanted to come here, and discuss with you some things that are going to take place in the next few weeks."

"Shoot."

"The prosecutor wants certain blood evidence admitted for the jury to see."

"What blood evidence?"

"Blood that was found on the murder weapon, that's the most crucial piece of the puzzle that they have."

Caleb closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotion that was slamming into him like a sledgehammer. "What else?"

As if that wasn't bad enough. He knew there had to be more, and he was trying to mentally prepare himself for that.

"They matched the shoe prints found in the apartment, to the size and sole of your shoe size. It's a hundred percent match, almost."

Caleb shook his head in astonishment. It was hard enough adjusting to his new set of circumstances, much less having to hear that the case the prosecution was building, was getting stronger and stronger.

"Is there any way we can prove that it wasn't me?"

"It will be tricky."

Caleb closed his eyes, as he tried to ward off the tears that were threatening to fall at any minute.

This was so much worse than last time, that he almost couldn't believe it. The prosecution had gone away with nothing, and had come back stronger than ever. This time with a whole arsenal of allegations to sort through.

"Okay."

Dawn studied him sympathetically. "We have to go through the witness list, too."

"Do you have one?"

"The prosecution has already subpoenaed several experts in blood evidence, as well as the maker of the shoe you were wearing."

"Right, so what do _you _have so far?"

"I have my own expert," she said with a secretive smile, "and the testimony from the Branch family will be crucial for us."

"Right."

They were the only people besides his own family that believed that he was innocent. If they could convince a judge and jury of the same thing, he would be in the clear.

"You look wrecked," she noted, as she began to pack her things up. "Have you even gotten any sleep?"

"No."

Ever since this ordeal had begun, sleep had been a distant dream of his. Tossing and turning was the norm now, as he struggled to adjust to a new bed and cell.

"Hang in there. I'm doing everything I can."

"Alright," he said with a small smile. "Thank you."

* * *

Every inch of Dean wanted to fall apart after he had been delivered the harshest blow of all: That Caleb would be spending the next year away from them, away from his _family_.

He fought it, though. For a variety of reasons, he knew that he couldn't go there. He couldn't give in to temptation and break down again.

For one, he thought of Sammy and how desperately they were trying to keep the ugly truth from him, and then there was the biggest fear, that if he started crying, he wouldn't be able to stop it.

So he soldiered on the best he could.

Returning to school had been the biggest step.

Followed by resuming the activities that he held closest to his heart, like training and going to football games with his friends.

There were times, nearly everyday, when the inevitable tear would slide down his face at the unfairness of it all, but for the most part, he tried to keep those times few and far in between the good times that he was beginning to have again.

Sticking to his same schedule had helped.

So had Bobby helping him with training.

"Hi," Jim said, once he arrived home from work.

Late again, and Dean suspected why, though he didn't mention it in front of Sam, who was staring curiously at the older hunter.

"Where were you?" Sam asked, as he helped himself to the pizza Jim had brought.

"Oh, I had to run some errands," Jim explained, ruffling Sam's hair. "Dean, can we talk out in the living room?"

"Yeah," Dean said, sliding out of his seat as he walked out into the spacious living area.

"Caleb was transferred the other day."

"To where?"

"The detention center a few towns over."

Dean nodded, his throat dry. "Okay, but what about his trial?"

If they could get past that, maybe he could finally come home.

"Dawn is still gathering witness lists, and trying to figure out the forensic evidence tied to it, but there's a date for the preliminary hearing."

"When?"

"Two months from now."

"Of course," Dean said with a scoff.

It wasn't enough that they had to pin a murder on him that he hadn't committed, but they had to torment Caleb by making him sit and rot while they twiddled their thumbs.

"I was thinking," Jim said, "that you deserve a break."

"What do you mean?"

"I spoke with Bill, and he invited us to come and spend a long weekend with them."

"Really?"

Bill and Ellen Harvelle were old friends of theirs from years ago. On occasion, they would even watch the boys when no one else was able to.

They lived in Nebraska with their daughter, Jo, and both families always looked foreword to their meetings.

"Yes. Do you want to go?"

"I do."


	11. Chapter 11

Even though Dean was excited to go on the trip to Nebraska with Jim, Bobby and Sam, he couldn't ignore the hollow pit in his stomach that reminded him that this trip would be vastly different from any of the previous ones.

Caleb had _always _accompanied them on those trips, providing much needed comic relief for the group, as well as some backup when Jim got too tired to drive the seven plus hours it took to get there.

And he had always teased the boys when they were getting tired of the long ride, and was even known to run interference with Jim, and took them into a Mcdonalds playland so they could stretch their sore muscles.

It would definitely be much different, and Dean tried as hard as he could not to dwell on that depressing fact, and instead tried to look foreword to seeing his old friends again.

They were more like family than friends, and it was a shame that they lived so far away from one another.

"Dean, have you got everything packed?" Bobby asked, as he came down the stairs, lugging his and Sam's duffel bags in both hands.

"Yeah, it should be by the garage door."

"Thank you."

Dean nodded in acknowledgment as he followed Bobby to where their bags were spread out, and assisted him in loading them into the back of the car, so he and Sam would have plenty of room in the backseat.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked, as he grabbed a couple of water bottles for the road, as well as some none-perishable snacks that he stored in a cooler.

"He's coming. He's gathering some last minute stuff he wants to hold with him in the car."

"Okay."

Grabbing his own things he wanted to have with him, Dean put them all in a small bag and quickly ran it out to the car, before running back inside.

Sam was downstairs already, handing his stuff to Bobby, who put it with his things that had yet to be loaded into the car.

"You idjits ready to hit the road?" Bobby asked, as he shrugged on his jacket.

"You bet," Dean said, as he and Sam jockeyed for a good position in the backseat.

Despite knowing how wrong it was that Caleb was missing from the trip, he tried not to let that spoil his fun as he settled into the backseat with Sam, as he split a portion of their snacks between them.

As their vehicle turned sharply onto the highway, Dean relaxed against the leather seat as he playfully pinched Sam, anything to keep things as normal as possible.

He needed that; just for one weekend.

"Why couldn't Caleb come with us?" Sam asked innocently.

"He's working, Sam," Jim said, "he'll be back as soon as he can."

"He better," Sam said in mock seriousness.

Dean smiled, even though some of the humor had left his spirit with Sam's careless comment, having no idea the effect it would have on his brother.

"He will be."

After that, Dean turned his head and gazed out the window. They had left early that morning in order to make the nearly seven hour long trip in relatively good time.

It was boring, though.

The endless driving, and the confinement.

"Who wants to play a game?" Jim asked, after awhile.

"As long as it's not anything dorky," Dean said with a grin.

"Then I guess I spy is out?" Bobby asked, chuckling.

"Hell yeah," Dean said with a scoff.

"Can we play the random game?" Sam asked, trading glances with Dean, at the game they had made up between the two of them.

"What's that?" Jim asked curiously, as he looked at them from the rearview mirror.

"It's a game where someone gives you a clue or a letter, and you look for it."

"Sounds simple enough."

So they played the game, as they drove down the long expanse of highway. Soon enough, they stopped for lunch and the kids were able to stretch their legs.

After that, Sam soon fell asleep, while Dean plugged in his walkman and blasted the classic rock music that he loved so much. Leaning his head back against the seat, he closed his eyes as he tried to lose himself in the soothing bass beats, and rocking lyrics.

He was so lost in the music that he wasn't even aware that he had fallen asleep, until he was shaken awake by something or someone.

Blinking his eyes open tiredly, he glanced out the window. To his surprise, they had pulled into the Harvelle's winding dirt driveway.

"We're here, kiddo," Bobby explained. "You among the living?"

"Yeah," Dean said, palming his face as he wiped away the crustiness in the corners of his eyes.

Beside him Sam eagerly hopped out of the backseat, eager to greet his friends.

"Bout time," Bill Harvelle said, coming down the porch steps as he greeted his friends. "Thought you might've got lost on the way."

"No," Jim said, shaking his head, as he shook Bill's hand. "Traffic jam on the interstate."

"Well, you're here now, and just in time. Ellen's in the kitchen whipping up some of her pot roast."

"Sounds great," Dean said, feeling his stomach growl in response.

As promised, Ellen was hard at work in the kitchen, with three or four different pots simmering on the stove.

"Hi," she said, looking up from her work when she saw them. "How was your trip?"

"Manageable," Jim said, "anything we can do to help?"

"No, not at all. You just take a seat, and it will be done in a few minutes."

Obeying her, the worn out family slid into seats around the dinner table.

"Where's Jo?" Sam asked, as he looked around for the missing child.

"She is at her friend's house for the night," Bill said, "been looking foreword to it all week long."

"You'll see her in the morning," Ellen said, seeing Sam's face fall slightly.

Soon, though, the dinner drove their thoughts far away from anything else, as they munched on the main course, as well as the delicious strawberry shortcake she had made for after.


	12. Chapter 12

Worn out by their long trip to Nebraska, the group soon retired to their respective bedrooms for the night. As was usual when they were there, Sam and Dean shared a room together in one of their spacious guest bedrooms.

Jim and Bobby were at the end of the hall, a few bedrooms away from them. Something that always fascinated Dean by the Harvelle house, were the discreet precautious they always took against evil, and the spirits and demons that roamed freely around them.

The doorhandles were pure iron fixtures, as well as the lighting above their beds. In the far corner of the room where the only window was stationed, Bill had laid down a protective line of salt.

And Dean knew that if he pulled back the oriental rug, he would see an expertly drawn Devils Trap underneath on the aged floorboards, not to mention a sigil on the far wall, tucked in the corner, that guarded against angels.

To say that Dean and his brother would be safe in that bedroom, was the understatement of the century. They had been safe guarded against everything supernatural that could possibly slip through those walls (or windows).

That fact made Dean feel infinitely more safe, knowing that every precaution had been taken in order to ensure he and his brother's safety while in that house, and in that room.

Cuddling under the covers after he had taken a fast shower, and changed, he was relieved that he was finally being granted the opportunity to rest for once.

The trip had been long, but ultimately fun in the end, but it had still been exhausting. As Dean adjusted the pillow under his head, he sighed deeply as he stared at the shadow show the wall was putting on for him.

The window by the bed sat by a large tree with elongated branches that had a nasty habit of scratching the window, and making fantastical shadows across the wall.

"Dean?" Sam said, as he opened the door that had previously been closed. "Are you awake?"

"Nope, I'm asleep."

"Dork," Sam said, as he set his things down on his bed that was situated across the room from his brother. "I finished brushing my teeth and taking my shower."

"Good for you."

As Dean curled his arm under his head, he turned over to look at his brother. Sam was sitting on the side of his bed, looking expectantly at his brother.

"Are we going to have our pillow fight?"

It was tradition for them to have a pillow fight when they went to the Harvelle's, since most of the rules they knew at home, flew out the window when they visited Nebraska.

"Sure, dude," Dean said, with a roll of his eyes as he grabbed one of his pillows, and rolled out of his bed. "You better think fast, though," he added, as he thumped Sam on the side of the head.

"HEY!"

Sam reacted instantly when he charged at Dean, attacking with his pillow, as he whacked him in the stomach with it.

"R-rules, S-Sam," Dean said, barely holding it together as he bent over in a fit of laughter.

It had been a long time since he had laughed like that, and it was refreshing. For once since his hell had began, he was letting himself let loose and enjoy things again.

"Who needs rules!"

"W-we do," Dean said, as he deftly avoided an attack, and whacked Sam again. "No stomach hits."

"You mean like this?" Sam asked, as he playfully jabbed Dean in the stomach with the pillow.

"Yeah," Dean said, shaking his head in amusement as he thumped Sam again. "Like that."

They ended up falling back on Dean's bed in an epic tickling war with each other. After that, they slowly retired to their respective beds.

Both worn out by their play fighting with each other. It had been fun, and it had been something that Dean had desperately needed for a long time.

"Dean?" Sam asked, as they laid in the darkness.

Dean had shut out the lights in the hopes of finding some restful sleep.

"Yeah?"

"Can we watch a movie?"

There it was, that whining lilt in his voice that always made Dean cringe with annoyance, even though secretly, he knew he couldn't deny his brother anything when he was acting like that.

"No, go to sleep."

"Please?"

"Sam, I'm tired."

That was an understatement, but he wanted to make some kind of impression on his brother.

"Well, can I?"

"Not in here."

He needed his sleep. It had been sorely lacking ever since Caleb had left, and he was desperate to get any that he could.

"Fine," Sam said with a huff, as he laid back against his pillows. "What kind of job is Caleb working on?"

Dean shook his head, wondering why Sam had to bring up the one subject that he would pay gold not to talk about.

"I don't want to talk about it, Sam. Please."

"Is it construction? Or something else? Is he helping people?"

Caleb always told Sam that he was helping people when he left on an extended journey, and over time, they had learned to use that as an excuse when they had to tell him something.

"He was helping someone," Dean said, as he rolled over on his side, even though he doubted Sam could detect his tears in the sheer darkness of the room.

"And he still is?"

"Yeah," Dean said, inhaling a deep breath. "All you have to know is that all Caleb ever does is help people, and he's a good person, and he loves us."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Dean said, chickening out of telling him the truth, that Caleb might not be back for awhile. "Just, can we please stop talking about it?"

"Okay."

Grateful, Dean closed his eyes, as he tried to lose himself in sleep. He was tired, both emotionally as well as physically, and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep.

And not wake up for another good eight or nine hours.

* * *

The night had been surprisingly peaceful. Dean tossed and turned slightly, but was able to achieve lasting sleep shortly after midnight, when he had finally turned the right way.

When he woke up, it was to his brother staring him in the face. Groaning, he threw out a blind hand as he pushed his brother away from him, as he wiped the crustiness from his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked innocently.

"Waking up, what does it look like?"

"It looks like you were wiping the crusties from your eyes."

"No kidding, sherlock."

"Huh?"

"Nothing," Dean said, with a shake of his head as he rolled out of bed, and threw on the first pair of clean clothes that he could find. "You hungry or something?"

"Yeah."

"Then why didn't you go down?"

"Waiting for you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're such a dork."

The adults were all downstairs when the boys got down there. Ellen was staking a plate of pancakes on the center plate on the table.

"Good morning," Jim said, turning to face them. "How was your night?"

"Fun," Sam said, as he bounced into his seat.

"Yeah, it was good," Dean said, when he saw Jim stare at him questioningly. "Looks good, Ellen, thanks."

"Anytime, sweetie."

"After you guys are done eating, what do you say we go out and have ourselves some fun?" Bill said.

"Sounds good!"


	13. Chapter 13

For some family's, going outside and having fun, meant throwing around the football, or jumping in the lake for a refreshing swim, or even just wrestling around with each other and do the things they couldn't do inside.

For the Harvelle's and their guests, fun meant sorting through their assorted weapons, and setting up a target range to practice on for the big hunt that day.

Squirrel.

Instead of hunting monsters and spirits, the game for the day would be something to eat for lunch or dinner.

The target range they were practicing on, had targets that were all spaced out evenly, from twenty feet, to thirty and fifty feet, depending on the skill and expertise of the person practicing on them.

Sam and Jo (who had returned earlier that morning from her sleepover), were playing on the other side of the yard with toy squirt guns.

"Okay," Bill said, coming over to Dean's side. "Which target do you want to snag?"

Dean narrowed his eyes as he looked at the wide range of targets available to him. The course was a replica of the one they had back at home. Perfect for practicing his aim on, and staying on top of his game.

"The fifty foot one."

He had only shot that distance once, but it had been a long time ago, and he wasn't sure his aim would be stealthy enough to reach it.

"Alright, sounds good."

Dean accepted the rifle and clip that Bill handed to him. This was familiar territory, this was something that he loved doing with all of his heart. It gave him an outlet, and it gave him something to center his mind.

"Make sure you load the clip in right," Bill said with a smirk.

He and Dean never missed out on the chance to tease one another, and Dean was ready with a sharp comeback.

"Shut up," he said with a grin, "and buckle your belt," he added, looking down at Bill's belt which was hanging loosely off his jeans.

"You're a little smartass," Bill said with a smile.

"You know it," Dean replied, as he easily loaded the clip into the gun.

After that, they lined up by the targets. Dean carefully eyed the target fifty feet away, and narrowed his eyes.

Fingering the trigger, Dean took a deep breath, imagining what Caleb would say to him, how he would coach him to make a good shot.

He had learned everything he knew about shooting, from Caleb, and he tried to hold on to that advice now, as he stared at the immovable target.

When he finally felt confident enough in his chances, he finally squeezed the trigger and felt a grim sort of satisfaction when he saw the bullet hit the target dead center.

"Good job," Jim praised, having witnessed the entire thing.

"Thanks."

Behind him, Sam and Jo had stopped what they had been doing, and were now looking at him with a sort of awed look on his face.

Sam had seen his brother shoot before, but had never seen him shoot that far away before.

"Good job, Dean!" Sam shouted.

"Thanks, Sammy!"

Grinning from ear to ear, Dean reloaded the gun, eager for another try.

This shot didn't go off as smoothly as the first one had, but he tried not to feel deterred, as he put the gun back down on the ground. He needed to save ammo for the squirrel hunt Bill wanted to do.

"Can I go?" Sam asked, when he saw Dean and the adults begin to suit up for the big hunt.

"Not this time, kiddo," Bobby said, ruffling his hair. "Maybe next time, okay?"

Sam nodded, disappointed as he turned back to play with Jo.

"Don't let him know we're hunting squirrel," Dean whispered to Bill. "The kid's a nature freak."

"Gotcha."

A thick forest blanketed the area surrounding the property, enabling them to hunt where the wanted, without straying far from the house.

Dean was having a blast as he carefully stepped over and around hidden branches, and avoided the little creatures that lived on the forest floor. It was familiar, and he loved it.

While he hadn't hunted anything like squirrel in awhile, he remembered the steps as easily as when he had first memorized how to ride a bike.

Looking up at the trees above him, he kept a lookout for any of the critters they were hunting. The weren't hard to spot, but the trick was sneaking up on them when they least expected it.

"Right there," Dean whispered to Bill, pointing up at the tree, where a team of squirrels were congregated.

"Good job. Here," Bill whispered, as he passed Dean his shotgun. "Remember, clean hit."

"I know."

Taking aim, Dean kept his eye on the prize as he squeezed the trigger. The desired target was hit, as it fell from the tree. The other squirrels scattered, clearly frightened away by what had happened to their friend.

Crouching down to retrieve his find, he handed it off to Bill.

"Good job. Ellen will find something to use it in."

"Awesome."

"Want to help me skin it?"

Dean shook his head, sticking his tongue out. "Ugh, no."

"Baby."

Dean reciprocated with a playful shove as the group made their way back to the house. Acting on the advice of Dean, the group kept their kill hidden from a curious Sam, and instead took it right to the garage.

"You sure you don't want to try it?" Bill asked, as he began the process of skinning the squirrel.

"I think I'll observe this time."

Usually the sight of blood and guts didn't phase Dean, but he was beginning to feel a little squeamish as he watched the intricate process play out in front of his eyes.

"What would Sammy have done if he'd seen this?"

"Probably launch into some epic rant about animal rights," Dean said, with a grin, as he hung back.

"He's a character, that one."

"That he is."


	14. Chapter 14

Usually, Dean was excited to be returning home after a visit to the Harvelle's. Not that he didn't enjoy being there, and seeing his friends, but he always looked foreword to being in his own bed again, and enjoy his things.

Not so this time.

Going back to Minnesota wasn't something he was looking foreword to this time, because he knew the problems and pain that would be awaiting him there.

As far as he knew, Caleb was still in jail, still waiting for his day in court when he could go on trial for Lexa's murder. A case that had been in the works all year, and was now coming full circle.

And this time, Dean knew the stakes were raised even higher. This time, if he made it to trial and was convicted of her killing, he would be subjected to an automatic life sentence.

Thinking those thoughts wasn't conducive to leading as normal an existence as possible. He tried as hard as he could for Sam's sake, but sometimes he just couldn't hold the tears back, couldn't keep smiling a fake smile.

To make it home early in order to rest up before school and work the next day, the small family left their guest's home, early in the morning, well before the sun had reached its peak.

Sam was the only one who was able to obtain any rest, as he simply (and clumsily) made his way to their car, laid his head against his pillow, and fell back asleep.

While Dean wished he could do that, he chose to stay outside in the frigid cold and help pack their things up in the car. It didn't take too long between all of them, but he was still relieved when he was finally able to settle down in the backseat.

As they pulled out of their driveway, drove down the road and turned onto the highway, he laid his cheek against the cold window as he stared out at the pre-dawn morning sky.

Stifling a yawn, he rubbed his tired eyes with his fingers as he fought to stay awake.

"You can go to sleep, Dean," Jim said from the front seat.

Bobby had taken his turn to drive, choosing to drive back.

"I know."

Looking down at his little brother, who had curled himself into a ball. His head lying on Dean's lap, Dean tried to follow Jim's advice, and closed his eyes.

With the lulling motion of the car, sleep was relatively easy to come by, as he adjusted himself to a comfortable position, and let it overtake him.

He didn't know how long he was out for, but when he returned to the world of the living, it was to Sam looking at him with his expressive, large eyes.

"We're stopping for lunch."

Groaning, Dean palmed his face, before nodding. Looking out the window, he saw that they had stopped at a diner that looked like it served edible food.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Most of them were too tired to engage in much conversation, and left as soon as they could.

This time, Dean stayed awake longer, as he looked out at the rolling hills and farms that they passed.

"Did you have fun?" Bobby asked, reaching back and squeezing Dean's knee.

"Yeah."

"Good."

Dean needed that weekend, and he was glad that he had agreed to go in the first place. Even though he had felt like staying home, he was glad that he had gritted his teeth and endured the trip there.

"Next year it will be the same again," Jim said.

"With Caleb?"

"Yeah."

None of them would even voice their concerns that Caleb wouldn't be coming home. To them, that was a far off possibility, but not something they needed to dwell on.

"Is he almost done with his job?" Sam asked.

"Pretty soon."

Dean nodded, as he scooted himself further down in the seat to get more comfortable. Thinking about where they could be a year from then, was hard.

Either Caleb would be out, and their nightmare over. Or he would be serving out a life sentence.

It was after noon when the group finally returned home. Dean made an immediate beeline for his bedroom to deposit his things, before returning back downstairs.

"Feels good to be home," Jim said, squeezing Dean's shoulder.

"I guess."

In reality, Dean was feeling anything _but _good, as he accepted the sandwich that Jim had made for him.

"Two months, Dean, and it will go by like that."

Dean shook his head, denying that statement as he plopped down on one of the kitchen chairs. "No, it won't."

"Well, it may not seem like that it, but it will."

"Yeah, and then we hae to wait another few months while the trial goes on."

"It may only take a few weeks."

"I hope."

But knowing their luck, and how it had turned on them recently, Dean wasn't feeling too good about it.

* * *

Making the trip to the detention center to see Caleb, Jim couldn't control the feeling of how wrong it was that he had to visit his friend there, that if he wanted to see Caleb, he would have to walk through a metal detector first.

It was worth it.

"Hey," Caleb said, once he had finally appeared. Cuffed in front, led by an expressionless guard.

"How are you?" Jim asked, as he studied him.

By all appearances, Caleb _looked _okay. He hadn't lost much weight, and his color still seemed okay, but that was only on the surface.

Mentally, Jim didn't know how he was holding it together.

"I'm doing okay. Some days are harder than others."

"I can imagine. Any news?"

Caleb shook his head, as he scratched a spot behind his ear. "No, um, Dawn's hoping that she can get the trial moved up a little."

"Is that possible?"

"It's probable, but not certain."

"Well, that's something."

"I guess."

"We went to see Ellen and Bill the other day."

Caleb smiled, perhaps the first real one he had smiled in days. "How did that go?"

"Good, and it was good for Dean, too."

"I bet. How has he been doing?"

"He has his good days, and bad days."

"Right."

It had been extremely difficult for Caleb to adjust to his new living conditions, and know that he couldn't see the boys for however long the prosecution decided to drag the case on.

"But he's doing okay. Sammy's really helping to distract him from everything."

"Yeah, I figured as much. Tell Dean I love him, and to hang on."

"I will."


	15. Chapter 15

Caleb was slowly getting used to the routine at the detention center. Wake up times were the same for the weekday, and the same for the weekend, as well as when the lights went out in the cell block.

Breakfast, lunch and dinner, were served at the exact same time with few variations, and visitation hours started soon after breakfast.

Sleep was still an issue for Caleb. Tossing and turning on his cot, had become the norm for him, as he struggled to find a good position to sleep in.

Punching the pillow and adjusting the covers did little to help. Instead, he was forced to wait until his body gave in to his demands, and placed itself on its sleep cycle.

Exhaustion was inevitable the next day, as he lagged through the meal hours, and was actually grateful to be allowed to retreat to his cell for the day.

The one bright spot in his life, were the visits from Dawn and Jim. Jim came as often as he could to support him, most days after work, and in the afternoons on the weekends, when things were slowing down.

It was hard to believe that he had been locked up for a month. Each day was the same monotonous routine that began and ended with the crushing feeling of loneliness, boredom and hopelessness.

In another three weeks, he had his preliminary hearing. It was a pit stop before the trial. It was a formal hearing that would determine if there was enough evidence to send him all the way to trial.

The hearing would last two or three days, and sort through the evidence that had been collected by the state investigators, and police.

Dawn, being brutally honest with him, had told him that he had a slim chance of winning the preliminary hearing, and to expect the judge to agree to send the case to trial.

After that, the trial was expected to be short, a few weeks at most. Caleb was grateful for that, at least he wouldn't have to wait long to hear his fate, and if luck was playing on his side, he would be acquitted and allowed to come home.

"Hey, girl," he said, when he saw Dawn behind the thin sheet of glass that separated the two of them.

"Hi. I spoke with the judge, and he has agreed to shorten your original sentence to six months, provided that you don't have any incidents, and of course, if you don't get convicted of the murder charge."

That was something. Before, he had fully expected to be locked in that hellhole for an entire year.

Hearing that wouldn't be the case, gave him some hope.

"What about the trial? Are you ready to go with that?"

"I am," she nodded.

"Good."

If they could be as prepared as they could for any eventuality, it would be better off for them in the long run.

"The prosecution has footage of the night Lexa died, and it's damaging."

"It is?"

"Yes. It shows you leaving the apartment before the murder, but returning to it just before it happened."

The shifter. After Caleb had left her for the night, the shifter had knocked him out and had taken his form, returning to the place, and killing her.

Running a hand over his face, he sighed.

Footage like that could either make or break his case. As it was, things were pretty bad, but now looking at the grand scheme of things, the video evidence could be just as bad as the forensic evidence.

"What do we do?"

"I hired an expert to analyze the video."

He nodded in response. "What good would that do?"

"It could a lot. It could either confirm the authenticity of it, or discount it."

"What do you have on the forensic front?"

"That I have made some progress on."

"Good."

At least there was some good to tip the scale. He needed to hear something good, for once.

"The crime scene was tainted."

"Excuse me?"

"The investigators tainted it by not following certain procedures that they were supposed to follow. They mishandled a lot of the crucial blood evidence, including the murder weapon."

"So-"

"So it's unreliable."

Caleb nodded, letting a small smile grace his features. "We can win this trial, then."

"If my motion to get the tainted evidence thrown out, succeeds. Then yes, we can."

Caleb found hilarious irony in the fact that the prosecutor was trying so hard to get him thrown in prison for the rest of his life, but may have screwed up the case singlehandedly, by having his team mishandle the evidence.

"So what will be our defense?"

Any murder trial, especially one with an innocent suspect, had to have a strong, believable defense to appeal to the judge and jury.

"The forensic evidence, or lack thereof, and the fact that you had no real motive to kill her to begin with."

Caleb nodded, running a hand along his jaw.

It could work.

A jury _could _buy that, especially if the forensic evidence was thrown out.

* * *

Returning to Minnesota was hard for Dean. Even though he normally loved the town he lived in, and his friends and school, it was hard to return home and know what he had to deal with.

Caleb's trial wasn't coming any closer, and for all he knew, it would be another month before it even got close to starting.

That was hard.

Knowing that his guardian and friend was locked up, and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it.

Admittedly though, he was relieved to finally be able to sleep in his own bed, and be surrounded by all of his things.

That was nice.

And familiar.

And safe.

Something tangible to focus on in a world full of uncertainty and darkness.

"Hi," Jim said, after he had come home from work.

"Jim!" Sam said excitedly, as he hopped up from his seat.

"Where were you?" Dean asked, as he put some plates on the table for dinner.

"Oh, I had to run some errands after work."

"Oh."

Their dinner was peaceful, silent. Only punctuated by Sam, who insisted on reciting a play by play account of his day for Jim's sake.

After they had finally wrestled the hyperactive child into his bed, Dean and Jim returned downstairs.

"I saw Caleb."

"How is he?" Dean asked, as he put some dishes in the dishwasher.

"He's doing fine. He wanted me to tell you that, and he loves you."

Dean nodded, a small smile creeping across his face. "Anything else?"

"Yes. Dawn found out that the crime scene investigators, botched the case when they went through it, because they didn't follow proper procedure."

"Are you kidding?"

So Caleb was in jail for nothing?

It wasn't surprising.

"No, and Dawn plans on using that as a possible defense when they go to trial."

"Good."

"If he gets acquitted of the murder charge, he'll only be in there for another six months."

"Why?"

"Because his sentence got shortened to that as long as he follows the rules, stays out of trouble."

"Good."

If they could just get through the trial, he could come home in six months. It was better than nothing, and he tried to remember that.


	16. Chapter 16

It was hard to believe, even for Dean, that it had been a month since he had last seen Caleb. The days sometimes fused together in an unintelligible blur, other days seemed to lull by without seeming to stop.

The pain, inexplicably, hadn't gotten better with the passage of time. It had, in some ways, gotten worse. Knowing what Caleb was missing while he was locked away in the detention center, and knowing the kind of things they could be doing if he wasn't incarcerated.

It was more than losing a guardian.

It was losing a member of his family.

Blood or not, these people who had chosen to raise him and his brother, had assumed the role of his family, biological or not.

Losing just one of them was akin to being stabbed in the heart over and over again, especially when Dean was brutally reminded of the fact that all of this could have been avoided.

Above the pain he felt, was a longing for him and the wonderful times they shared with one another.

He missed their incredible bond with each other.

He missed all of their inside jokes they shared between the two of them.

And he missed their training sessions that both of them loved with a burning passion.

Dean supposed that he should have been used to losing people by now, but this was different. This loss, while tangible and everlasting, was different because Caleb was still alive, but he was in a place where Dean couldn't reach him.

It was as if the powers that be, looked down on them and decided to pour another heaping teaspoonful of pain over their family.

It wasn't fair.

None of it was.

All Caleb had done, was try to help that girl, and now he was paying for it with his life.

One bright spot (in a world full of darkness), was Caleb's preliminary hearing was coming up in a few days.

It was a pit stop to the real trial that would take place after the judge paved the way for it, after the conclusion of the hearing.

At the preliminary hearing, a more formal, in-depth look of the evidence that would be collected by both sides, would be presented, and the judge would have the burden of deciding whether or not there was enough to send Caleb to trial.

Even though the chances were so slim that Caleb would be granted a reprieve from the torment of the jail system, Dean couldn't help but hope that things would shift in their corner, that something _good _could happen.

"Dean," Jim cautioned, when Dean shared his hopes with him. "The chances of the case being thrown out, is slim."

"I know."

But if there was even the slightest chance that he could have Caleb back home, he would go with it, even if the possibility of it was so far out of reach.

"I'm not trying to discourage you from hoping, Dean."

Jim just didn't want him to get his hopes up for something that probably wouldn't even happen. He, of course, would be thrilled to get his friend back, and the kid's guardian, who they both adored, but he knew the odds that were stacked against that.

"I know."

It was getting harder to hide the truth from an intuitive Sam. His inquiries into Caleb's whereabouts, had become more frequent, and Dean hated it.

It was hard enough having someone he adored, locked up, and then on top of that, he had to deal with his baby brother pestering he and Jim for information.

But they held firm on their cover story they had fed to him, and he hoped that eventually Sam would stop asking, and accept what he was being told.

"What are you thinking?" Jim asked.

"Nothing," Dean said with a shrug. "I was thinking that maybe I could go to the prelim hearing."

He knew that was a thin possibility, but he hoped that he would be allowed to see Caleb, even if only from a distance.

"I don't know about that, Dean."

"I know, and if I can't, I'll be fine."

He had survived up until that point, by some miracle, what was another six months or so?

"I just know that there will be some harsh things said about Caleb by the prosecution, and I don't want you hearing that."

Dean nodded, as he bit down on his thumbnail. "Yeah."

Hearing someone tarnish Caleb's name, would be incredibly difficult, and not have a chance to defend him.

"And there will be images of Lexa's body, and an overview of the evidence, and some of it is pretty graphic."

"I've seen stuff like that before, Jim."

Throughout his varied and short hunting career, Dean had been exposed to all sorts of brutality at the hands of demons, and over time, his brain had learned to close itself to that kind of horror.

"I'll tell you what. I'll talk to him the next time I see him, and I'll see what he thinks."

"Okay."

It was the best answer he had, and he knew he had to go with that for the time being.

They didn't have much time left to talk about it. Sam had come downstairs, and Bobby, intent on providing a distraction for Dean, had let him in on a spirit hunt he was conducting.

"Can I go?" Dean asked, jumping at the chance to distance his mind from the near constant confusion and pain.

"Sure you can."

"Sweet."

* * *

Jim didn't know if the shock of visiting his friend in jail, would ever completely wear off, as he walked through the metal detectors, and to the visiting area.

"Hey," Jim said, when Caleb finally sat down in front of him.

"Hi."

"How are you?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Good. The preliminary hearing, that's going to start soon?"

"At the beginning of next week, yeah."

"Nice. Dean wants to know what you would think about him going."

Caleb paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I don't know, what do you think?"

"I don't want him seeing or hearing anything that will upset even worse than he already is."

Caleb nodded. "I know. I won't be in cuffs or shackles, at least not in open court."

"They want to present you in a favorable light to the jury?"

"Yeah."


	17. Chapter 17

Driving through the town limits of Fairmont with Bobby, Dean was grateful for the distraction it gave him. He was also grateful that Bobby had allowed him to accompany him on the hunt.

There was nothing quite like gearing up, and working out details of a case. Even if it was a relatively simple one like a haunting.

And Dean needed as many distractions as he could get.

Dean knew that Jim planned on talking to Caleb about him possibly attending the hearing, but with his luck and how it had turned on him lately, he knew there was a slim chance he would be allowed to go to the hearing.

And to be honest, Dean wasn't altogether sure he would be able to hold his tongue against the prosecutor if he started verbally beating Caleb up.

And Dean wasn't sure if he could handle seeing Caleb like _that_. Being led into court by a prison guard, and having to listen to all sorts of defamatory accusations against his guardian.

Deciding to count his blessings such as they were, Dean settled back against the rough anterior of Bobby's truck, and looked out the window at the spring weather, and what it was doing to the trees and bushes outside.

"So what's the case?" Dean asked, as he glanced around at all the unfamiliar scenery of Fairmont.

Most of Minnesota he knew by heart by now, but there were some parts he hadn't yet ventured into, and Fairmont was one of them.

It was a fairly large town with rich history to go along with it, but he had never had a reason to go there before now.

"Pizza parlor. Owner dies mysteriously, stabbed in the gut by his own pizza cutter. Now," Bobby said, "you could call that a freak accident or stupidity, but it happened to his son, niece and now his daughter."

"Does the poor bastard even have any family _left_?" Dean asked, as Bobby pulled down a secluded, gloomy street near where the parlor was.

"He does. A brother that has taken over the business."

"So we have to talk to the brother, dig up the history of the pizza place."

"I do," Bobby said, glancing at Dean. "You don't. Too young," he added, when Dean looked like he was going to argue.

"Fine," Dean said, not liking the fact that he couldn't go with Bobby to his interview. "Are we checking in someplace?"

"Right here."

Because the town was small, homey, the motel was also in similar conditions as they set up their equipment.

It was one of the nicer ones Dean had stayed in, and he immediately claimed the bed on the far right as his.

"What time is your interview?" Dean asked, as he unzipped his duffel bag and took out a sweatshirt to put on.

"In a few minutes. You know the drill, right?"

"Salt the doors and windows, and don't let anyone in. Got it," Dean said, as he dug around the motel room, looking for a washcloth to take a shower with.

"Alright, I'll fill you in when I get back."

"Okay."

"Be careful."

"Always am."

He had been left alone before, when he had ventured into a strange town. He knew the routine better than he knew the back of his own hand.

It was part of his training, and he always took that seriously.

While Bobby was gone, Dean indulged in a warm shower, and then while his hair was drying (he never really liked to blow dry it), he placed a phone call to his very eager brother back home.

"Yeah, I'll be back soon," he said, as he cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear, as he put his shoes and socks back on. "No, do _not _go in my room for _any _reason."

Hanging up the phone, he shook his head in amusement as he casually picked up a brochure of the town that had been placed as a gift in the room.

Nothing caught his attention, as he skimmed through the thin booklet for any leads on the town, and why a pizza parlor had been the location of so many deaths.

Leaning down, he moved aside his clothes and reached under them for where he knew his array of weapons were.

At twelve, he didn't have any of his own, just some that his family had left him for when he was alone.

The most prominent weapon that he would need to utilize on the trip? A rock/salt gun that would repel any spirits that tried to take a swipe at him.

Making sure it was loaded, he laid it beside him on the bed, as he waited impatiently for Bobby to return.

Watching TV was pointless, since there weren't any good channels on a motel TV, and the fact that nothing they had on their three or four channels interested him any.

This was dangerous.

Having nothing to do.

This was when he started thinking about Caleb, and all the memories that his arrest and leaving had done to him.

It was far easier to bury his pain when he actually had something to bury it _with_, but when all the chores were done, and he was left alone with his thoughts, that was when it got hard.

The passage of time hadn't done anything to make it easier, and now that the preliminary hearing was coming up, he was feeling even more anxious and jumpy than he normally did.

Brushing a hand over his face, he tried to let those harmful thoughts go, as he randomly took the gun apart in order to clean it out.

It didn't need a cleaning, but he figured it would distract him enough to keep him from breaking down while he was on a hunt.

"Hey," Bobby said, as he slammed the door open. "Found out some stuff."

"Good," Dean said, as he expertly reassembled the gun. "What?"

"Well, from what I could gather of the history of the place, it looks like the parlor was built on cursed land."

"So what does that mean?"

"People died on that site, Dean, and now the spirits of the people go after whoever is now using the land."

"How did the people die? And _when_?"

"Years and years ago. They were prisoners, and when they were executed, their bodies were buried outside in the field."

"And parlor was built on the field?"

"You bet."

"Perfect," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "So what did you tell the guy?"

"Told him that he had a minor bug infestation, and to clear out before it got too serious."

"Are we going to burn the place down?"

Bobby shook his head. "Not unless we have to."

"So now what?"

"Now we go set up shop."


	18. Chapter 18

It was past dark when Dean and Bobby made the journey to the pizza parlor that was right down the road from where they were staying. Per Bobby's request, the place was closed down for business, the rickety "closed" sign, dangling off the doorhandle.

As they stepped out of Bobby's ancient truck, they both shivered in the frigid spring night, as they made an immediate start toward the entrance.

Inside, the place was orderly, neat, with the leftover smell of pizza thick in the air, as Bobby and Dean set up their array of equipment for a night of ghost hunting.

"Okay, you have the-" Bobby began, but was almost immediately cut off by Dean.

"Yup," Dean said, as he turned on their EMF reader, which almost immediately began whirring, bringing to their attention, that a spirit was somewhere in the establishment.

"And make sure you use the-"

"I know, old man," Dean said with a smirk, as he brought out the infrared thermal scanner that they sometimes used for hauntings of that nature.

"Okay," Bobby said, "what do you see so far?"

"This place is orbing like crazy," Dean said, as he studied the screen in front of him. "Do you know where the burial grounds were exactly?"

"Right over where the place was built."

"Perfect," Dean said sarcastically. "There could be a million of these sons of bitches, and we can't even torch 'em."

"We can do other things to stop them," Bobby said.

Truthfully, he had planned on burning the place to the ground if he couldn't make any progress getting rid of the spirits. It would be a dirty move, but it would be lifesaving in the end.

"Like what?"

"Burn the place down."

"There you go," Dean said with a shrug, as he focused on what the scanner was showing him. "You think some of these spirits might be watching us right now?"

"I'd say there's no doubt about it."

Dean nodded, his brow furrowing in confusion. Usually, when spirits invaded a public establishment, there were a few orbs, maybe, but he was seeing ten or twenty all in the same radius.

"There are a lot of orbs."

"Well, over the years, the prison buried a lot of bodies. Eventually, when the prison was destroyed and the pizza shack was built, they became vengeful, and protective."

"Of the place they were buried?"

Bobby nodded. "Doesn't make a lick of sense, but that's spirit common sense, for you."

Dean grinned once, as he focused on the EMF readings. The thing had hardly stopped going off since they had stepped foot inside the place.

Ignoring the racing motion of his heart, he ventured into the kitchen. It was obvious the owners had left in a hurry. Food and other perishable items were still on the counters, and the stove was running on low steam.

Reaching down to switch it off, he was intercepted by a ghost-white hand that had reached out and grabbed him, roughly shoving him back against the opposite wall, with a gasp of pain.

Reaching for the salt gun, Dean fired off a quick shot before the ghost was able to full disappear. As predicated, the spirit was disarmed when it was hit with the deadly combination of the rock and salt.

Cleaning himself off, Dean glanced at the stove again, deciding not to worry about it, as he showed himself out of the kitchen.

"What the hell happened?" Bobby demanded, when he saw the twelve-year-old reappear.

"One of the spirits grabbed me. I fired off a shot."

"So I heard. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Jim would have his hide if Dean came back injured from a hunt.

"No, just a little sore on my side."

"Alright. Well, the rock salt won't repel them forever. It will just injure them."

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean said, shaking his head. "Do you know anything about the burial site? Who was buried, and when the place was first built?"

"Not a lot of intel," Bobby said, as he paused to fire a shot at a spirit that he had seen coming out of the corner of his eye. "Most of the prisoners that died, were put on death row, and died there."

"So they were violent," Dean surmised.

Generally, it didn't matter how the person had died. If they were violent or not in their life, but when they were murderers or thieves, their spirits tended to be that way in their afterlife.

"Yes, and now we have a couple pissed off spirits to deal with."

"If only we could scorch the bones."

The hunt would be over if they could only do that one quick thing.

"Well, we might have to. The owner's son is getting suck of all the destruction, and just wants it to be over."

"He pretty much lost his whole family over this place," Dean said, looking around at the run-down place. "If we burn the place down, maybe we can still dig up the ground under it and find the bones."

"You might have a good idea."

* * *

Seeing no other alternative to the matter, and after doing a quick search at the library for confirmation of their suspicions, Bobby and Dean quietly set fire to the pizza parlor, burning it down to its roots, and exposing the ground underneath it.

It wasn't until morning, when after the fire company was done cleaning up the blaze, that Bobby and Dean had the opportunity to go back and dig up the ground for the bones.

It was backbreaking work, but the cool air made their perspiration a little more bearable, as they shone their flashlights down into the exposed ground.

Several small caskets laid side by side. Each unmarked, each containing a different individual who had perished inside the prison.

Shaking their heads in disbelief at the amount of work before them, they each targeted a casket and set to work.

Since they were nearly inches from each other, the task of salting and burning the bones, was made easier.

Except for one that fought back violently after she discovered they were about to burn her casket, the case was pretty successful, and no one was seriously injured or bruised.

Feeling confident and pleased with himself, Dean left the town behind him with a smile on his face, as he and Bobby chatted amiably about the hunt, and upcoming ones that he might be able to go on.


	19. Chapter 19

Still on a contagious high from his hunt, Dean walked through the door back home, with a grin as wide as Texas on his face, despite his sore arm from being thrown by the spirit.

Depositing his gear on one of the kitchen chairs, Dean threw himself into a seat at their island counter as he gulped down a bottle of flavored water.

"How did it go?" Jim asked, as he came into the kitchen from down in the basement.

"It was awesome," Dean said, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I kicked butt."

"Glad to hear it."

"He did do an amazing job," Bobby supplied when Jim looked to him.

"Nice, so did you finish it?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, we ended up burning the place to the ground, and then digging up the stiffs that were buried underneath it."

"Are you serious?" Jim said incredulously.

"Completely," Dean said, "right, Bobby?"

"Right."

"Where's Sammy?"

"He's downstairs watching one of his cartoons."

"Oh."

Still favoring his sore arm, Dean ate the meal that Jim set down in front of him.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Jim asked, as he studied the boy carefully.

"Nothing too serious," Dean said, sparing him a glance before returning to his food.

A boy had to eat, of course.

Especially one that had just completed a difficult job.

"What happened?" Jim asked, looking back and forth between Bobby and Dean.

"The spirit grabbed him," Bobby explained, "but he did everything he was supposed to, and shot the sucker with rock salt, and he was fine."

"Are you _sure-_" Jim began, knowing how innocuous bruises like that could look, but could be serious without it even looking like it.

"Yes," Dean said, with a roll of his eyes. "It's all good, believe me."

"Well," Jim said, forcing a smile on his face. "I'm very glad, and I'm proud of you for the job you did."

"Thanks," Dean said, allowing a small smile to grace his features.

Now that the shock from the hunt had worn off, he was feeling tired, and just wanted to be able to retire to his bedroom for the night.

Going to Fairmont on the hunt, had been just the thing he had needed to get his mind off things, and he was glad that he had done it. It had been exhilarating, and it had brought back all the memories of past hunts he had done.

"And I know," Jim said, as he squeezed Dean's shoulder, "that Caleb would be very proud of you right now."

Dean nodded, feeling his throat constrict as he tore his eyes away from his guardians to hide the influx of tears that were threatening to fall down.

"Really?" he asked uncertainly.

"Really," Jim affirmed. "He would be extremely impressed right now."

"Thanks, really."

Hearing that, even though it was hard to remember that Caleb wasn't there, made him smile because he knew that Caleb would be proud of him, just like Jim was telling him.

"You bet."

"Do you," Dean said with a sigh, "do you know anything about the prelim hearing?"

"I do. It's coming up tomorrow, and we spoke about you attending it."

"And?"

"And we don't think that you seeing him like _that _would be helpful to you right now."

Dean shook his head stubbornly. "Don't you think that maybe I should be involved in that decision?"

"We do, Dean," Jim said, "but right now, we're looking out for _you_."

"I just want to see him. It's been a month!"

He couldn't believe the situation he had found himself in. That he was being forcibly cut off from his guardian, and all because the people around him, thought he was too vulnerable to be a part of it.

"I understand that, but wouldn't you rather have a good memory of him in your mind, than have a bad one?"

Dean didn't reply.

"Because," Bobby said, "you won't be able to touch him, you won't be able to talk to him. It will be a sighting, that's all."

Feeling a single tear slide down his face, Dean tried to ignore it. "It's not fair."

"I know, Dean, but don't you think it would be incredibly difficult for you to see him like that?"

"No," Dean said, shaking his head stubbornly, "because I'd just beat the hell out of whoever is treating him like a criminal."

Even after he had had the chance to come to grips with the fact that Caleb was gone, and why, it still didn't make it any easier. As if the life hadn't taken enough away from him, now it had claimed someone else.

"I promise you," Jim said, leveling with him as he looked him in the eye, "that you will see him again. I don't know how or when, but you will."

* * *

Waking up the morning of the first day of his preliminary hearing, Caleb tried to control the intense feelings of nervousness that he was feeling, as he went through the motions that had become routine for him, as he was let out of his cell to have breakfast.

After that, because the hearing was being held in the county courthouse downtown, he was forced to be transferred there.

That made it incredibly difficult for him, as he changed into the suit he would wear for his appearance. It would be much easier to be sympathetic to a man wearing street clothes, than it would be for a man with a prison jumpsuit on.

After he changed, came the humiliating process of being cuffed and shackled. It was routine when an inmate was being transferred to court, even though he despised that part of the day.

One thing he was grateful for, was that he and Jim agreed that Dean wouldn't be there for the start of the hearing. Even though the cuffs and shackles would come off right before he walked into the room, it would still be traumatic enough to see him in that position at all.

As the police van transporting him to the courthouse, approached the underground parking garage, Caleb tensed as the back door opened, and the guards carefully led him out.

Hearing the shackles _clink _together as he walked, he tried not to cringe. Wishing the process would be over before he went out of his mind, he tried to zone out while they took him through an elevator and up to the third floor where the hearing was being held.

The courtroom wasn't too packed when he arrived. The only discernible faces he recognized, were Dawn's and Jim's.

Throwing Jim a grateful smile, he took his place next to Dawn, as the proceedings began.

"Are you doing okay?" she asked, throwing him a concerned glance.

"No," he whispered back, "I feel like I'm going to throw up."

So much was riding on this hearing, but ultimately he knew that he would be bound over for trial. It was inevitable, especially with the amount of evidence the prosecution had against him.

"Hang in there."

Nodding, he bit down on his thumb as he listened to the judge address the people that were assembled there.

After basic instructions, he left the floor open for the prosecution's opening statement.

As promised, it turned into nothing more than a campaign to smear his name, and make him out to be the killer he _wasn't_.

"All of the evidence," Mark Riley, the prosecutor said, "points to only one person, and it's the person standing directly behind you."

Caleb shook his head slowly, as he stared at the hateful man in front of him.

"You have her blood mixed in with his. You have blood smeared all around her apartment floor, and then you have the smoking gun," he said, brandishing a video tape like it was a sword. "The video of the defendant returning _to _the crime scene _before _the murder took place."

Feeling his heart sink like a stone, Caleb watched as the shifter reentered Lexa's apartment after he had left it.

No one watching the video would know that it wasn't him, apart from Jim and himself.

"You see?" Mark Riley said, once the video had stopped. "You have your killer, Your Honor."


	20. Chapter 20

After sitting through more than two hours of the prosecutor giving him a verbal beat down, Caleb breathed a sigh of relief when he finally shut up and let Dawn have her turn on the floor.

He was fascinated with how expertly she wove together the pieces of evidence that _she _had collected, and singlehandedly used hers to discredit what the prosecution had gathered.

The sticking point, the one thing she wanted to accomplish, was getting rid of the blood evidence, which she claimed had been tainted by improper handling at the crime scene.

Through the fault of the very people trying so hard to put him behind bars for the rest of his life.

"The evidence that you have seen," she said, speaking to the judge, "is evidence that Mr. Riley and _his_ teammishandled at the crime scene. Walking through it without a care in the world, handling pieces of evidence without the proper licensure _or _without the proper gloves on."

Caleb shook his head, praying that her tactic would work and the judge would believe what she was telling him. It was his only chance at having one less piece of evidence against him if and when the case went all the way to trial.

And if the judge found that Dawn was right, that the prosecution _had _mishandled the blood evidence and had it thrown out, it would be one major victory for them even before the trial started, and a crushing blow for the prosecution.

"The evidence we collected was _always _properly handled-" the prosecutor began, but was almost immediately cut off by Dawn.

"Excuse me, Mr. Riley, I was talking," Dawn interjected. "Your Honor, exhibit A and B, are clear instances of contamination."

The exhibits in question showed the murder weapon, and the blood that was smeared on the silver handle of it.

As Caleb tried to study the pictures from her point of view, he drew a blank. He had no idea how blood contamination worked, or how that was proved. He just decided to trust Dawn, and what she was telling him and the court.

"My team followed all procedures," Mark Riley said, "we followed the statutes laid out to us, and we followed through with that."

"Did your 'statutes' mention that failing to secure a crime scene within forty-eight hours of the crime, leaves the place wide open for contamination? Fact is, there were _several _people walking on through there because it wasn't secured!"

To Caleb's extreme satisfaction, he saw the prosecutor's face redden at her revelation, as he struggled to regain some of the credit that he had previously held upon walking into that courtroom.

"Your Honor, I contend that we followed procedure-"

"The date that you and your team entered the apartment, was three days after the crime happened. That is indisputable, and was on _your _report. That makes any blood collected, unreliable, and therefore, makes the blood connection you found between my client and the victim, _useless._

After the war of words settled down, the judge made the determination that he would rule on the issue at the end of the proceedings.

Next came the issue of the physical evidence that had been photographed and cataloged at the scene, and during the course of their investigation.

"From all accounts," Dawn said, "Lexa Branch put up a struggle. A fight like that would leave forensic evidence of that behind. Yet," she said, walking back to where Caleb sat. "Do you see _any _physical proof of an altercation between them? There are no cuts on his hand, no scratches, anything."

Caleb nodded slowly, relieved that Dawn had brought that up. The shifter would have had physical proof of their argument, but he didn't have any at all.

"Your Honor," Mark Riley said, "Miss Branch was found bound and gagged in her apartment. Now I'm not saying she didn't put up a solid fight against her attacker, but if he was able to overpower her quickly, the physical proof of a fight like that, would be very little."

_You slime, _Caleb thought, as he stared at the man with pure hatred etched into every line of his face.

He hadn't been privy to the details of Lexa's death, and how she had been found, but hearing it now, made him sick.

He hated this man for the obvious reason that he was trying to take his life away from him, but he hated that he was describing Lexa's murder so graphically and in full hearing range of her family, who were sitting right behind him.

"Alexia Branch was found with a three-inch gash in her throat that ran so deep that it nicked her spinal cord, almost decapitating her. The attack was planned and methodical in how it all went down.

To prevent her from alerting anyone to trouble, she was bound and gagged while she stared into the eyes of the person that would end her life. And her attacker, the person sitting in this room right now, is on video returning to her apartment right before the murder."

Caleb shook his head, feeling sick as he got a visual of her death that he hadn't ever wanted to hear.

Muffled sobs from Lexa's family, made his heart ache for them. They were some of the nicest people he had ever met, and he hated this man for making them relive her death.

To Caleb's amusement, when the issue of motive came up, the prosecutor claimed that he and his team hadn't been able to find any reasonable one.

That made it laughable to him, because what murder could be so meticulously planned out, like this man was claiming, without a serious motive for it?

"My client has no motive, because he did not commit this crime," Dawn said bluntly, "plain and simple. This case is a witch hunt, and an obsession to pin this crime on an innocent man.

The blood evidence, the most important piece of physical evidence they have against him, is virtually none-existent due to the blatant contamination that went on when they neglected to secure the crime scene. The word sloppy comes to mind, but it's much deeper than that, because this is about an innocent man who has to pay for this sloppiness."

Dawn had a way of hitting the nail right on the head, and that could sometimes work when she was trying to appeal to a judge or jury.

Caleb couldn't help the small smile that crept across his face, as he watched her take on the prosecutor.

Because the first day of the hearing had purely dealt with the physical side of the evidence against him, the judge dismissed court until the next morning when they would delve into the video evidence again him, and then the judge would make his determination.

* * *

Dean was grateful he had school that day. Otherwise, he was certain that he wouldn't have been able to think of anything _but _the prelim hearing that was happening.

Math, history, those sorts of classes always gave him a headache, but now he was grateful for the distraction they gave him, as he meticulously copied down notes, and paid attention to the teacher talking.

Once the final bell had rang, he beat a path to the school bus as his eyes automatically searched for his brother.

Sam wasn't hard to spot, as he chatted with his friends. Choosing a seat close by him, Dean was soon engrossed in a similar conversation with his own friends, as the bus bumped along the road as it deposited students at their different homes.

Dean and Sam's was one of the last stops the bus made, as it pulled up to the bus sign right around the corner from their home.

As was typical, Dean and Sam raced each other to the front door. And as was also typical, Dean easily won the race as they burst through the door.

"That's not fair," Sam said with a pout. "How come you always win?"

"Because you're slow," Dean said, as they made their way into the kitchen to grab whatever snack food the guys had set out for them.

"Meanie," Sam said, as he stuck his tongue out at his brother.

Dean mimicked him, as he took a satisfying gulp of his soda.

"Hi," Jim said, as he walked through the garage door. "Did you just get home?"

"Yeah," Dean said, nodding. "How was work?"

He wanted to ask him all about the preliminary hearing, but knew it would have to wait until Sam was out of earshot.

"Good, it was the same 'ole, same 'ole."

"Sounds great," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"Did you help people?" Sam asked, his eyes wide.

Jim told him that in his line of work, he often found himself helping people. Which was entirely truthful with his job as a pastor.

"I did," Jim said with a smile.

Coming home to their smiling faces, it was hard to feel anything but utter love and devotion to those two boys. Even on the darkest, most stressful of days, he could always count on them for a quick smile and laugh.

Soon, Jim started dinner. Tuna Casserole was a rarity in the house, but something the boys, strangely, both enjoyed.

While the dinner was cooking in the oven, Jim chose that time to divulge what had happened during the preliminary hearing.

"What happened?" Dean asked, as they stepped into the living room to talk, both of them carefully keeping an eye on Sam to make sure he didn't eavesdrop on the conversation.

"The prosecution started spouting all of this stuff about the state of Lexa, and how she was found, and then eventually, they started talking about the physical side of the evidence."

Dean nodded, biting down on his nail anxiously. "What happened with that?"

"Dawn made a move to dismiss the blood evidence, saying that it had been tainted by improper handling by the prosecution's team."

_"What?" _Dean said incredulously. "So it's like they did this on purpose!"

"I know, but the judge hasn't rule on the motion yet, and he probably won't until tomorrow when the hearing concludes."

Dean nodded. "What about the physical evidence?"

"Dawn said that it would be impossible for Caleb _not _to have physical marks of a fight between he and Lexa, and there weren't any marks on him. Not at all."

"Yeah, because the shifter did it."

"Exactly."


	21. Chapter 21

The events of the day had completely worn out Caleb. Hearing the prosecution's wild accusations against him, and their brutality in achieving their goal, had completely mentally exhausted him.

By the end of it all when the hearing had concluded for the afternoon, he was actually glad to be able to return to his cell for the night.

The next morning promised to be more of the same, but at least he had the night to relax and try to forget the circumstances he had found himself. If that was even remotely possible, when all he had to do was look at what he was lying on, and the locked door that kept him prisoner there.

For dinner, he didn't have much of an appetite as he picked at his food, before going back to the cell.

Lights went out earlier than normal on the weekdays, and he was grateful for that. It was much easier to (attempt) sleep with a dark cell, than with a lighted one that gave him a headache.

Not that it did him much good. Tossing and turning had become the norm for him since he had been forced there. Eventually, his body always won the battle over his mind, and he drifted into blissful unawareness, but it was hard getting there.

Tomorrow he would know his fate. The next morning would bring about a decision from the judge that would either free him from the torment he had been going through, and he would be allowed to serve out the rest of his sentence in peace, or he would be bound over for trial.

The latter was becoming more and more likely with each passing second. The prosecution had unearthed that video of him returning to the apartment before the murder, and if that wasn't incriminating, Caleb didn't know what was.

Lying down on his hard, impersonal cot, he threw the thin covers over himself, and tried to lose himself in sleep. It was much safer than dwelling on all of the what ifs that could happen in the morning.

It was easier said than done.

As had become typical, his brain rebelled against the quietness that rest offered, and used that sacred time to give him a pounding headache, and images of everything going wrong at the conclusion of the hearing the next morning.

Pressing a pillow to his head, did little to help him. The battle wasn't against his head, but the brain that insisted on attacking him with images that he would pay gold to forget.

Eventually he gave up his pointless tossing and turning, and turned over on his back and tried to rest. Closing his eyes, he tried to think about anything _but _the next morning when the judge would hand down his decision.

He tried thinking about what the boys would be doing at that moment.

It was close to nine 'o clock. Sam would be in bed by that time; Dean would probably be watching a movie or in the shower, depending on what he had done that day.

Thinking about the boys was safer than thinking about what the morning would bring.

If the case went all the way to trial like he knew it would, that meant that the judge thought there was a serious possibility that a jury could convict him based off the evidence presented.

And if he was convicted, it would mean an automatic life sentence for him. It was terrifying to imagine his life ending like that, but he gritted his teeth and tried to forget it until if and when it actually happened.

Rolling over on his side again, he exhaled deeply as he tried to close his mind off to any and all thought waves. He needed sleep, but his heart was jumping around so manically in his chest that it was distracting him from it.

Eventually, he managed to catch a few winks in the wee hours of the morning. By that time, it was almost pointless. In a few hours, the guards would be unlocking his cell door for breakfast, and then he would have to go through the humiliating process of being transported to court again.

When the early-morning sun showed its face in the little that Caleb could see out the small window in his cell, he sighed, running a hand over his face as he got up from his cot and tried to stretch his legs.

There was limited space to stretch out, but he did with it what he could.

Pretty soon, the breakfast hour started. He ate as fast as he could, wanting to get the show on the road.

When he was done eating, he clenched his teeth while the guards put his restraints on, and led him out of the jail and to the police van.

Closing his eyes against the rocking motion the van made as it traveled along the road, he tried to imagine a good outcome for the day, tried to imagine someone taking pity on him and realizing that all of this was a huge mistake.

Fat chance.

Allowing the guards to lead him through the elevator and up to the third floor where the proceedings were being held, he searched out Dawn's face at the defence table, and did his best to give Jim some sort of recognition, but he was sure the look he gave him was more of a panicked one than anything else.

"You look like crap," Dawn said bluntly.

That was their relationship. Open and honest to a fault, sometimes.

"Didn't sleep much," Caleb said, as he swiped a hand across his scratchy eyes.

It didn't take long for everything to begin. The only issue they would be dealing with, was the issue of the video showing him returning to Lexa's apartment, and after that, the judge would make his ruling on the blood evidence, and if the case was strong enough to go to trial.

"You can question the authenticity of the blood evidence," prosecutor Mark Riley said, as he paced the floor dramatically. "You can question whether or not it was tainted, but you _cannot _question the existence of the security footage showing the defendant returning to the scene of the crime."

Caleb felt sick as they played the video again. It was him (or the shifter _pretending_ to be him) returning to the apartment just minutes before Lexa was murdered.

"Stay calm," Dawn whispered, seeing how freaked Caleb looked.

Caleb shook his head, beyond words.

"There is indisputable proof that he was at her apartment when she died. The time on the video indicates that he returned approximately ten to twenty minutes before the murder took place. Plenty of time to overpower her, and kill her."

Caleb shook his head, as he felt hot tears prick at the corners of his eyes. This was so wrong on so many levels. He was paying for something a _monster _had done, and he was paying for it with his freedom, his _life._

Unfortunately, there was nothing that Dawn could do to dispute the validity of the video. It was clearly him (or the monster wearing his form), and all she could do was plead for leniency, and ask that the most crucial blood evidence, be discounted.

"No matter what the video shows," she said, as she addressed the judge, "my client is still entitled to fair representation, and a fair trial. The question of whether or not the video is valid or not, is indisputable, but you have an obligation to make sure that my client is appropriately represented."

Caleb was infuriated when he saw the prosecution hiding a smirk behind his hand.

After she finally sat back down next to Caleb, Mark Riley got up to make final statements before the judge made his final ruling.

"Did you see him smirk?" Caleb whispered to her.

"Yes," she said. "He doesn't bother me in the _least_."

"Your Honor," Mark Riley said, as he grasped the podium. "We can argue about the evidence and the video, but my burden is to prove probable cause. Probable cause to commit the crime, probable cause in relation to the evidence.

In our law and in our state, that is all we need to move this case foreword to trial, and I believe that we accomplished that during the course of these proceedings.

It is up to the jury to find beyond a reasonable doubt, but we have proved probable cause."

Feeling a single tear slide down his face, Caleb wiped it away as he listened to him speak. It was so infuriating, and it was so hard to hear this man spout out lie after lie and know that he couldn't do anything about it.

"Be calm," Dawn whispered.

Caleb nodded, trying to follow her advice.

"Fact is," the prosecutor said, "right when this case first started and the defendant was brought in for questioning, he lied.

He is a liar. He lied repeatedly throughout the course of his interrogation, denying that the murder weapon was his, and then was caught in that lie. He lied about where he was when the murder was taking place. One lie after another."

Caleb shook his head, feeling his heart sink like a stone into his stomach as he repeatedly rubbed his eyes to keep the tears at bay. The last thing he wanted was to give the prosecutor the satisfaction of knowing that he had gotten to him.

After that, all the judge had to do was hand down his decision. If the case would proceed to trial, or if the case would be dismissed there.

"I've heard all of the arguments," Judge Banks said, as he addressed the room and the people in it. "I have seen the different exhibits presented by the prosecution and defense, and I have seen the video evidence.

The issue of blood contamination, I _do _agree that there was a certain amount of improper handling done at the crime scene, and therefore, it does make it unreliable to proceed with. I will dismiss the blood evidence that was collected."

Caleb breathed a sigh of relief.

It was one less piece of evidence against him, and the prosecution wouldn't be allowed to use it against him at trial, and the jury wouldn't have access to it to render their verdict.

Trading glances with Dawn, listened as the judge spoke again.

"However, it is my belief that the prosecution _has _proven considerable probable cause. The video evidence, the lies that were told during the interrogation, and the lack of an alibi," the judge said, stating his reasons for continuing the case to trial.

Caleb's heart broke while he listened to the judge.

The preliminary hearing had been his only hope that this thing could end peacefully, and now he was going to have to go through a weeks long trial, and more sleepless nights.

This time, he couldn't stop the single tear that slid down his cheek.

"Does the twenty-second of April work for opening arguments?" the judge asked.

"We'll be ready," Dawn said.

"Yes, your honor," the prosector said.


	22. Chapter 22

Caleb was numb. Every inch of him drew a complete blank when the judge first announced his decision, that there was enough proof of his guilt to send him to trial.

The only thing he registered was the single tear that slid down his face. A tear of disappointment, and of fear for the unknown. It was a scary thing to realize, that he would be going on trial.

April 22nd was less than two months from then. Plenty of time for Dawn to mount a good defense strategy, and plenty of of time for the prosecution to pony up more bonus charges against him.

The only physical sensation he could feel as he dimly heard the judge rattle off final instructions, was the pounding of his own blood in his eardrums.

He felt nauseous, his stomach doing odd flips and turns as he swallowed back the bile in his throat. Turning in his seat to glance over at Jim, he saw the same look of incredulity and pain written all over his friend's face, mirroring his own to a T.

Dimly, he registered Dawn saying something to him, but that was drowned out in the enormity of what he realized he had to face in the coming months.

A trial that would be the final step in determining his guilt or innocence in the eyes of the law. If, by some miracle, he was acquitted of the charges against him, he would gladly serve out the rest of his sentence for fraud with a smile on his face.

If he was convicted, he knew what his fate would be. That he would be subjected to serve the rest of his life in the state penitentiary, the key all but thrown away.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the firm grasp the guard had placed on his upper arm, signaling for him that it was time to go.

Not able to emotionally or physically resist the movement, he got up and allowed the guard to cuff him, and lead him out of the room and down the intermingling halls until they reached the underground parking garage where the police van had been parked for the duration of the hearing.

Stepping into the van, he leaned his head back against the solid wall behind him, as the van bumped along the road back to the detention center.

It was over.

The hearing had been his only hope of being granted a reprieve, and now that that was shot, he didn't hold much hope for the trial.

What could Dawn possibly do to discount the validity of the tape? That had quickly become the prosecution's smoking gun, and for good reason. It showed him (or the thing pretending to be him) entering that apartment, and minutes later Lexa would be murdered.

Even though there were days when he was relieved to be able to retreat to the privacy of his cell, he now viewed it as a tomb as the guards uncuffed and unchained him at the door, allowing him to walk in before they closed and locked the door behind him.

Sleep would be an impossible fantasy. Too much was on his mind, too much was wrong for him to be able to fully enjoy a restful nights rest.

Not that it had been good before, but now he was certain that the next few weeks would bring nothing but pain, confusion and uncertainty.

After the dinner hour was over, (in which Caleb had somehow found the strength to venture out of his cell and eat), Dawn visited.

* * *

It was the first time he had had any human contact besides the unsympathetic guards. Sitting down on the other side of the glass barrier that separated them, he sighed deeply before picking up the phone.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He shook his head, giving her a short humorless laugh. "No, I'm really not, actually."

It was more than getting one step closer to the guard throwing away the key, it was the fact that it meant more time away from the boys while his legal battle went full steam ahead in the courts.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

At least they had scored one major victory in getting the blood evidence thrown out.

"The date for the opening arguments is about three weeks away. We need to figure out a defense, one that will stick with a jury."

"How?"

"It will be tricky, but if we can somehow discount the video, that will be huge."

"People know what they saw, Dawn," he said, "it's not going to be that easy to get rid of that."

"It will be hard," she said, "but it's possible."

"Yeah," he said, sighing deeply. "What about the lack of alibi and the lying they caught me in?"

"Well, it certainly limits your credibility to a potential jury pool."

"So testifying in my own defense isn't a good idea?"

"Not in this case."

"Right."

* * *

Driving home from court, Jim sighed heavily as he ran a hand along the bottom of his jaw. In reality, he knew that there had been too much physical evidence against Caleb to have an outcome other than the one that had happened.

It still was stunning.

Seeing his friend in a position he didn't deserve to be in.

Seeing the guards lead him away like he was a common criminal.

Now that he had had the chance to leave and think about what had transpired, his thoughts immediately flew to the boys.

Sam was still oblivious to what was really going on. Although, according to Dean, he had started to ask more questions.

Jim couldn't even fathom telling Dean that Caleb was not only _not _coming home anytime soon, but that he would have to face trial, something that they had all been fearful of.

At least the blood evidence had been thrown out. That was one major loss for the prosecution side, and one major win for the defense's side.

Pulling into his peaceful, quiet neighborhood, he pulled into the driveway of the house at the end of the street, and paused before going inside.

Dean and Sam were perched at the dining room table. Sam had his homework papers splayed out across the table, and it looked like Dean was (attempting) to help him.

"Hi, Jim!" Sam said, glancing up from his mess of papers. "Dean's helping me with my homework."

"I see that," Jim said, allowing a smile smile to grace his features as he bent down to kiss the top of Sam's head. "Are you boys hungry?"

"Sure," Dean said with a shrug.

Jim could see the questioning gaze that Dean probed him with, but they both knew they couldnt' discuss the hearing until Sam was well out of earshot.

Thankfully, dinner consisted of leftovers from the night before, and before too long, they had ushered Sam upstairs to take a bath after most of his food had somehow ended up on his shirt instead of in his mouth.

"How is it that his food goes everywhere _but _his mouth?" Jim asked, as he and Dean cleaned up the dishes.

"His brain is faster than his mouth sometimes."

"I suppose."

"So," Dean said, as he leaned against the counter. "What happened today in court?"

A part of Dean didn't even want to know. It was a terrifying thing to discuss the fate of his guardian, and know for a fact that he didn't deserve anything that was happening to him.

"Dawn managed to get the blood evidence thrown out."

"That's good, right?"

After all, all of their hopes had hinged on the blood evidence being thrown out. Even though he should have known better, Dean couldn't help the smile that crept across his face.

"Yes," Jim said with a sigh.

_"But?" _Dean said, sensing the underlining "but" in the sentence, and it made his heart skip a serious beat.

"But the sticking point for the judge was the fact that Caleb was caught in several lies during the course of the investigation."

"Yeah," Dean said with a scoff, "because he to protect himself from that monster!"

"I know that, Dean, but normal civilians don't know what we know."

"So what did he say about it?"

"The prosecution has the burden of proving probable cause, and the judge felt like they did."

Dean shook his head slowly, trying to swallow back the lump in the back of his throat. "What?" he whispered, surprised at how small his voice sounded. "He's going on trial?"

"I'm sorry, Dean."

This time, he couldn't suppress the tears that ran down his face unopposed, as his posture completely crumbled.

It wasn't fair; none of this was.

When Jim stepped foreword and tried to hug him, he didn't even resist the movement like he normally would have. Instead, he melted into his embrace as he sobbed into his shirt.

"Why?"

It was a question he had asked himself a thousand times since the start of all of this, but he found himself asking it again each time a new hit was directed at their walls.

"I don't know, Dean, I don't know."


	23. Chapter 23

Why?

It was the single question that Dean most often asked himself since their whole ordeal with the courts had began.

Why had a hunt that was supposed to have been so simple, gone so horribly wrong?

Why had the police latched onto Caleb as their sole suspect in a poor girl's violent and brutal murder?

And why had the case progressed so far that Caleb was now fighting for his freedom, his _life _against an unbeatable prosecutor who seemed intent on making sure he rotted in prison for the rest of his life?

So many questions, but at the end of the day, none of them mattered anymore. All of their hopes had been hinged on the hearing being a success, for the case against Caleb to be dismissed.

Not only had it _not _been dismissed, but it had gone full steam ahead to trial. The smoking gun? The video that clearly showed his guardian entering the apartment complex, and according to prosecutors, minutes later, killed the girl.

As Dean laid on the couch, hugging a pillow close against his chest, he could feel the tears that he had tried so hard to suppress, come down unfiltered from his eyes.

The tears, an outside reflection of his breaking heart, did little to ease his suffering. If anything, the tears only served as a reminder that he wasn't engrossed in some horrible nightmare, that this was the real thing.

Scrubbing a shaking hand across his eyes, he sighed deeply as he tried to stop the oncoming flow of tears. He had cried so much since Jim had dropped the bombshell that the skin around his eyes was starting to redden.

"Dean?"

Exhaling deeply, he turned his torso around to face Jim as he came into the room.

"Yeah?"

"I know this is hard-" he began, as he sat down across from Dean in the recliner.

"No, you don't," Dean interjected. "You have no idea what this feels like."

It was his own fault. He had foolishly gotten his hopes up when he found out about the preliminary hearing, and they had been horribly dashed.

"I understand the pain that you feel right now, Dean," Jim said, as he tried to get through to the fractured boy. "I understand how much you miss Caleb, and how much you want to see him."

Dean nodded, as a few loose tears managed to slip into his mouth, as he tasted saltwater.

"And it's losing _another _person. Don't these people understand that? That what they're doing to him affects _all _of us?"

If things were looking this bad _now_, Dean couldn't even fathom what would happen if a jury found him guilty of the murder. A short jail stint was much different than being doomed to spend the rest of your life in prison.

For Dean, it was unthinkable.

Caleb was as much a part of their family as anyone, and when one person was missing from that circle, it threw the whole system into utter chaos.

This prosecutor, this man who he didn't know from a hole in the wall, didn't know any of this. He didn't know what a loving, caring man that Caleb was with Sam and Dean, and Dean honestly doubted it would make any impact on the man, anyway.

"Dean, we have been through some bad times before," Jim said, as he tried to instill any amount of calm that he could in the boy.

"Nothing like this."

Any other problems they encountered before that, made it pale in comparison. This was someone's life that was on the line, a life that didn't deserve to be messed with.

"I know that, but we will get through this as a family. Like we always have, like we always will."

Dean shook his head, as he rolled over onto his back. "What about Caleb? What if he gets convicted of this?"

"We haven't even gotten there, Dean, and I plan on crossing that bridge if and _when _we come to it."

With their luck being as pressed as it had been lately, the odds of conviction were looking more and more likely.

"What are we supposed to tell Sam?"

"I don't know that yet, but we'll think of something."

Before, it had all seemed like a surreal bad dream. Any second, Dean expected Caleb to walk through the door, and have it be like nothing happened.

But now that he was going on trial?

It made the situation undeniably real.

And it gutted him.

"I can't stand this."

"I know," Jim said softly, as he placed a comforting hand on Dean's knee. "But what can I do for _you _right now?"

"Nothing, unless you find a way to bring Caleb back."

And that was such an impossible dream that it was hardly worth even mentioning.

"What can I do to make this any easier on you?"

Jim had watched the kid fall apart for too long. It wasn't right, and no kid should have to shoulder the weight that Dean carried with him.

"I don't know," Dean said, as he brushed his arm across his face. "I don't really care."

"Do you need to get out of this town for awhile, maybe?"

Dean didn't answer, as he bit down on his thumbnail. A maneuver to clench the tears that were threatening to fall again.

"I don't know," he finally said, when he realized that Jim wanted an answer.

"Do you think it would help you at all?"

"What would help me is seeing Caleb."

Even though he knew that most likely wouldn't happen, it would still be something.

"I don't think that's a good idea right now. It would only upset you more seeing him like that."

"I don't know, then."

"What about going to Bobby's for a few weeks with Sam?"

Dean always enjoyed the trips to Sioux Falls when their schedules were able to accommodate it. For one reason or another, the boys hadn't been able to go there in awhile.

It _would _be nice to get out of town for a few weeks.

Even if it was only a temporary solution to the problem, at least he would be able to get a short reprieve from all of the insanity that had plagued their town.

"What about school?"

It was the middle of the semester, months away from the spring or summer vacation times.

"I'll handle that. But do you want to do this, Dean?"

"Yeah."

At least it would give him some distance from this entire situation.

"Okay, that's settled, then."

* * *

"Hey," Jim said, said as he looked in on his friend.

It was the first time he had seen Caleb since the decision had been handed down.

"Hi," he said, attempting a smile, but it definitely came off as forced. "What's new?"

"Nothing," Jim said, "just the usual. But how are you holding up?"

Caleb laughed, as he stared down at his cuffed hands. "Do you really want to know?"

"Would I be asking if I didn't?"

"Smartass," Caleb said with a grin. "I'm not doing good. I think a part of me is in shock still, but I don't know."

"What is Dawn saying?"

"She's trying to figure out a good defense strategy for the trial."

Caleb didn't hold out much hope. If a judge had found probable cause to send him to trial, then what would a jury say? Especially with the video. It was about as good as him shouting it from the rooftop that he had killed her.

"And what do you think?" Jim pressed.

"I don't know," Caleb said, as he sniffled. "I don't think I'm getting out of this in one piece."

"What do you mean?"

Caleb shook his head, as he scratched something on his nose. "I don't see this ending in my favor. Not at all. The jury has all they need to convict me, and then it's a life sentence."

"I know things seem hopeless right now-"

"Seem? They _are_. They have me redhanded, or the thing wearing my meatsuit."

Jim shook his head, feeling incredulous at all that had transpired in the last month or so. It seemed incomprehensible to him that Caleb was staring a life sentence in the face, and all for something that he had had no part in.

"Things could happen."

Caleb shrugged. "How? Unless Dawn somehow finds a way to miraculously discredit the video. Otherwise? I'm screwed."

"Caleb, we've been through worse before."

"Not like this we haven't."

"True, but we have to find a way to survive this."

"I'm trying, but right now, I'm barely sleeping as it is, and now I have this trial hanging over my head at night."

It was an impossible situation, and one that Caleb wished could just go away. It wasn't that simple, of course, but he wished sometimes that it could be.

"How are you being treated here? Has it been okay so far?"

"Yeah," Caleb said with a shrug. "For the most part, it's been fine."

"Good."

"How are Sam and Dean doing?"

If there was one thing that made his confinement nearly unbearable, was that it took him away from Sam and Dean. The way he counted, it had been over a month since he had last seen them.

"They're doing okay. Dean's not handling this well at all. Sam's doing pretty good for the most part."

"Good. What about Dean, did you tell him about what happened?"

"Yeah. I actually talked to Bobby, and he thought it would be a good idea if Dean and maybe Sam stayed at his place for a few weeks to get out of town."

Caleb nodded thoughtfully. "It's a good idea. What does Dean think about that?"

"He wants to go, anything is better, he figures, than staying in this town."

"True."


	24. Chapter 24

Packing up his things to leave for Sioux Falls, Dean couldn't help but feel excited. It had been a couple months since he had last stepped foot inside the city, and it would be a nice change from all of the chaos and hell that had rained down on _his _town.

Making sure Sam was making headway with his own packing, Dean went downstairs and put his things by the garage door, an unexplained spring in his step as he packed some water bottles and other provisions for the road.

"You sure you want to do this?" Jim asked, as he got his coat on, and unhooked the keys from the key hook they kept by the door.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, sucking in a deep breath. "Hell, I think you may be right about this one."

"Aren't I _always _right?"

"Only half of the time," Dean said, allowing a teasing grin to grace his face momentarily.

He missed Caleb with his entire being, and he missed having his presence. The upcoming trial only served to heighten that feeling, only served to make him long for him more.

This break would be good for him, even though he doubted that it would hold much power over his mind and the tricks that it routinely played on him.

"You're a little brat," Jim said, glad that Dean was regaining some of his joking nature as Sam came down the stairs with his things.

"Are you going to stay with us too, Jim?"

"No, not this time, but Bobby will take good care of you."

"Will he make his famous hot dogs?"

"I'm sure, dude," Dean said, as he slung one bag over his shoulder.

Bobby, for all the rough and gruff ways that he had about him, he also happened to be an accomplished cook.

"Is Caleb going to meet us there?"

Dean paused, his hand fastened around the doorhandle of the garage door. "No, dude, he's not."

"Why not? He's been gone for _so _long."

"I know, Sam," Jim said, when he sensed that Dean was becoming upset. "But he'll come home soon."

Dean nodded, as he rushed ahead of them into the car. He couldn't stand lying to his baby brother, but he knew what the truth would do to his mind, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs.

Lying sucked, but he couldn't stand to inflict the same kind of pain and confusion that _he _was going through, on his brother.

Thankfully, Sam dropped the conversation as soon as their car hit the road. It was rare that he got to see any of the world outside of their cozy town, and any new adventure was bound to excite him.

"Sam, you promise to be good for Bobby?" Jim asked, as they neared Sioux Falls.

"I promise," Sam said, trading glances with Dean.

"Okay, I'm holding you to that."

"Cross my heart."

* * *

It was nearing sundown when Jim's car finally pulled into Bobby Singer's salvage yard. It was a wide, expansive place full of rusted out tributes to classic cars that he housed there.

It had been awhile since the boys had been there, and it was written on both of their faces that they were glad to have made the trip. Bobby was waiting for them on the porch, as he smiled a greeting at them.

"Thanks for this, Bobby," Jim said, as he reached out and shook the grizzled hunter's hand.

"Ah, that's no problem. I know the rugrats need it."

They did. Dean more than Sam, but Jim knew it would be good for Sam to have some new adventures outside of town, since he rarely got the chance to leave it.

"I'll see you boys later," Jim said, as he bent down and gave both of them a hug.

"Thanks, Jim," Dean whispered.

"No problem."

Since it was already getting late when the boys arrived, they didn't have much time to play outside like Sam wanted to. Instead, Dean ventured into the sitting area which doubled as an office/dining area.

Usually, Dean loved looking at all of the different books Bobby had accumulated, and now was no different as he ran his finger leisurely along the spine of a newer looking volume.

"Just got that one," Bobby said, as he walked into the room, and saw what Dean was looking at.

"What's it about?" Dean asked, as he picked up the heavy tome and turned it over in his hand.

"Demonic exorcism."

"Fun."

Dean took the book and plopped down on the couch, as he casually leafed through it.

"Maybe we should use it on the prosecutor," Dean joked, though it didn't entirely reach his eyes.

"I wasn't going to say anything about that. I heard that he's going on trial."

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"How are you holding up?"

"Not good."

"Well, you know, if you ever want to talk about it, I can't guarantee I'll be good at that kind of thing, but I can try."

Dean nodded, though he was sure that would be stepping out of his own personal bounds that he had built around himself. "Thanks."

"I got a car that you might be interested in."

Dean was _definitely _interested. Cars and training were two of his favorite things in the entire world. "What kind of car, what condition?"

"Mustang, frame wrecked."

"What are we going to do?"

"Well," Bobby said, as he paced thoughtfully. "We won't be repairing him as much as we'll be surgically amputating his parts."

"Sounds...painful," Dean said with a grimace.

"Well the car itself is wrecked, but the parts are still salvageable."

"Well, when do you want to do it?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Got it."

Relieved to have something to look foreword to, Dean went upstairs to the bedroom he shared with Sam, and sprawled across his bed.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, as he came into the room.

"Sleeping," Dean mumbled.

"No, you're not," Sam said with a laugh.

"Then why did you ask?"

"Are we going to sleep _now_?"

Dean shook his head in bemusement. "It's nine, dude."

"So?"

"Sam! You promised Jim that you would be good."

"Fine," Sam said with a huff. "Goodnight."

"Night, Sammy."


	25. Chapter 25

Working under the hood of a car was one of Dean's favorite hobby's, next to hunting of course. It just felt so right and natural to be one with the vehicle, as he figured out the issues that were causing the problems, and using the right tools to fix it.

Even the cooler Spring South Dakota weather didn't waver his drive, his _focus_, as he expertly inspected the car that would soon resemble nothing more than a skeleton of what it had originally been.

His job today, would be to assist Bobby in deciding which parts of the ancient beauty were salvageable. It wasn't an easy job: The Mustang had undergone some serious damage in a car accident a few months back.

The frame was twisted like a Pretzel, and the engine was shot. It would take an insider's knowledge to know which parts to save, and which parts to pitch.

As was typical, whenever his brother was doing something even _remotely _interesting, Sam tagged along, keen on observing the brother he idolized, in action.

"What do you think?" Bobby asked, standing back and letting the eager twelve-year-old examine the car.

It was precise work, almost surgical in nature, deciding which parts out of a dozen were good enough to hand off to a potential buyer.

"Um," Dean said thoughtfully, as he ran his hand smoothly along the exterior of the car. "The doors look decent, and maybe the roof of it."

"Good. Anything else?"

"Nothing internally. The engine's blown, so we can't use that for anything."

"So all we really have are the outside parts."

Dean nodded, stepping back. "Yeah, seems like it."

Rolling out from under the car where he had been inspecting some of the inner workings of the beast, he accepted the hand Bobby offered, and stood up, wiping his greasy hands on the sides of his jeans.

"That's that, then," Bobby said, "so how do we get the parts disconnected from the car?"

Dean pursed his lips together thoughtfully, as he considered that question. "A _really _big screwdriver?"

Bobby shook his head, chuckling. "Close, but not quite, boy."

"Why do you want to take the parts off?" Sam asked, as he sneaked a closer look at what his brother and Bobby were doing.

"We're trying to salvage the parts that are still useful," Dean explained, as he helped Bobby assemble the tools that would be needed for the operation.

"What does "salvage" mean?"

"It means you ask too much questions," Dean said, as he rolled his eyes.

"No, _really_."

"It means that you save something, in this case, a car part, because you can use it for other things, other makes and models."

"Oh."

Shaking his head in amusement at his brother, Dean accepted the equipment that Bobby passed over to him. Rags and other items fell into his lap, as he looked at Bobby curiously.

Screwdrivers and other heavy duty tools were apparently useless for unhinging a car door.

"What do we use the rag for?"

"Disconnect the window opener."

"Oh...okay, then."

"Mainly, the hardest part of getting this thing off, will be figuring out which wires to disconnect. You following me?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, so which ones are we looking for?"

"You're looking for the wires that are directly _attached _to the door," Bobby instructed, as he passed a small screwdriver over to Dean. "You can use this to pry open the panel on the window, and it will expose the wires."

"And then what?"

"And then you can disconnect them using these," Bobby said, as he held up a pair of wire clippers.

"And then the door will come off?"

"Yes."

"Alright, sounds simple enough."

Those turned out to be Dean's famous last words.

Crawling into a good position to be able to rip up the panel that would expose the wires, he tried using the screwdriver to unearth the wires, but it was harder than it looked.

Much harder.

Jamming the screwdriver into a good place to lift up the part he wanted, he had to work at it a few minutes, while his patience was quickly wearing thin.

"You doing okay?" Bobby called in.

"Yup," Dean called back, "just ready to throttle this thing," he added through gritted teeth.

"Keep at it. It's tricky at first."

"Yeah, I got that."

Finally, the part came off that he wanted. Breathing a sigh of relief, he held out his hand for the wire clippers that would be the last part in disconnecting everything from the door.

"Alright, be _careful_," Bobby cautioned. "You don't want to be electrocuted."

"Aw, but that would be so much fun," Dean said sarcastically, as he carefully pulled the clippers around one of the wires, trying to do them one at a time.

"Dean, I'm serious."

"So am I," Dean said with a grin.

"Idjit."

Finally severing one of the wires, he threw it aside, as he reached for the next one. It was a slow, arduous process but it was one that was comforting, safe to him.

It took his mind far away from all of the ugliness that it had recently played host to, and it had given him something positive to focus his energy on.

"Got 'em," Dean said, as he carefully slid back out of the car.

"Good job," Bobby said, "now we _carefully _take the door off and lay it aside."

That was the hardest part, lifting the door off its hinges and carefully setting it on the ground. But the job was done, and the look on Dean's face, was all worth it for Bobby.

"You did good."

"Thanks," Dean said, as he accepted the hug Bobby offered him. "Thanks for letting me do it in the first place."

"Of course."

"Of course, my ass," Dean muttered to himself.

It was rare that Bobby let anyone get near one of his projects, and Dean was just grateful that Bobby had allowed him near one, just this once.

* * *

Since his forced confinement didn't appear as though it would end anytime soon, Caleb was glad for any human companionship he could get.

Whether it came from Jim, Bobby, or Dawn.

"What have you got so far?" he asked, as he looked at Dawn as she sat on the other side of the glass.

Over the course of his incarceration, he had almost come to be afraid to ask that question, because each time he did, usually there was some string attached to it.

"Well, the prosecution is trying to find _something_ that will back up what they're trying to sell to the jury."

"So what does that mean?"

"They found some...cases, unresolved, that they linked to you. Murders, robberies, that sort of thing."

Caleb shook his head, fighting back tears of pure frustration as he looked at her, hoping beyond hope that she was playing a sick joke on him.

"Dawn, _please_ tell me that he is not seriously charging me with _another _murder."

"There's not enough evidence, and he knows that. He's using that to establish a pattern."

"Great. Is that even _allowed_?"

"In certain cases, yes."

"What about the video? Have you figured that out at _all_?"

"I'm working on it. That's their key to all of this ending in a conviction, and for good reason."

Caleb shook his head incredulously. "Is there any way to discredit that tape?"

"If we can establish a timeline based off the video, and somehow prove you weren't there, then maybe."

"Okay, that's something at least."

"But it will be tricky. Jury's have convicted on much less before."

"Right."


	26. Chapter 26

"Hi," Jim said, as he sat down across from Caleb. The thin sheet of glass the only thing separating them. "You look like-"

"Hell?" Caleb finished for him. "I feel like it, man."

Jim nodded understandingly. "Tell me what's happening."

It wasn't right having to go through metal detectors to see his friend, and it wasn't right to have to watch his friend go through hell in the literal definition of the word, for something he had no part in.

"Dawn came and saw me the other day, and she informed me that the dick prosecutor is trying to establish a patternin order to make sure all of this makes sense to the jury."

"What kind of _pattern_?" Jim asked, not liking the sound of that at _all_.

"There are a few disappearances and murders, and he's trying to say that I had something to do with those."

Realizing that his mouth was agape, he quickly closed it. "Is he going to charge you with another murder?"

"No," Caleb said, as he heaved a deep sigh. "There's not enough to go on, and he knows it."

"So why even bring that into it?"

"Who knows? But it's just another nail in the coffin."

And Caleb was sick of it, and Jim was, too. Each time they achieved a goal, something else happened to shove it back. So many hits had come their way the last several months, the worst of it being the never-ending legal problems that Caleb seemed to have.

"You don't honestly think that."

"Why not?" Caleb asked, giving a short, humorless laugh. "Each time I think that it's over, that I'm _finally _going to be left alone, something happens that snaps me right back into it again."

Caleb was never someone who usually cried, and therefore Jim was stunned to see his friend cry. In that moment, all he wanted was to reach through the glass and take him home, reunite him with the boys, and have it be over.

Of course, that dream was impossible.

Not unless a jury believed in his innocence enough to acquit him.

"I know things seem hopeless right now," Jim said, "but that can change."

Caleb shrugged, as he shook his head. "They haven't so far, each time I turn around, it gets _worse_."

The upcoming trial had shaken them all to their core, knowing how very close to home this had hit, and how Caleb's life and freedom were all teetering precariously on the edge of the cliff.

"I know it's hard, but you have to find some way to get your mind centered on something else."

"How? It's not like I can turn off the switch, Jim. I can't _not _think about it. I'm living this hell every single day. I look around myself, and all I see is that door that keeps me locked in there, and I see how I don't have any freedom, nothing."

"How often do you get out of your cell?"

"Hardly ever. Except for meals and court appearances, I'm in there constantly."

"You never know what the jury will find, what they'll decide based on what _they _think, how _they _will perceive the evidence presented."

"They have all they need to convict me, Jim. That video is all they need, and if that happens?"

Caleb shook his head, as he tried in vain to wipe the tears away. For so long, he had been strong. Through it all, he had remained unshakable in his faith that things would work out in his favor, but it was difficult to keep seeing that when the bad hits kept coming.

"Then we'll figure something out," Jim said firmly.

"There'll be nothing _to _figure out. I'll be in this place the rest of my life, and that evil son of a bitch monster would have won."

And it would make his separation from the boys, that much more permanent. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, was being apart from the boys. It killed him to know that if he hadn't accepted the job, he would still be home with them.

Dean understood what was happening, but Sam didn't. For all he knew, Caleb had gone on a job and hadn't come back from it. What would he think if his guardians told him the truth?

It would destroy his innocence, and the childhood he deserved. That _both _of them deserved.

"Let's talk about something else," Jim suggested. "Let's talk about the boys, sound good?"

Caleb nodded. "Yeah. How are they?"

"Good."

"Are they still at Bobby's?"

"Yeah, but I'm picking them up tomorrow. Dean has a dance at his school this weekend that he wants to go to."

Caleb smiled as he attempted to stop the flow of his tears. "With his girlfriend?"

"Yeah, it should be good for him."

"Yeah, I agree."

"He _really _wants to see you, Caleb."

"I know," Caleb said with a sigh.

He wanted to see them, too. More than anything in the world, but not like that. Not in a situation where Dean could be even more traumatized than he already was.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" Jim asked. "I know he wants to see you, but I think seeing you like _this_, would only worsen the situation."

"I agree. I think it would do a number on his head if he saw me in handcuffs and a jumpsuit."

"Yeah, and I would rather have him have a _good _memory of you than a bad one."

"I agree, and since it's a detention center I'm in, I don't even know if they'll let minors in or not."

"Good point."

"You can just tell him that, maybe."

"I'll see."

* * *

Even though Dean hated leaving Bobby's, he had spent a wonderful two weeks there, and truth be told, even though he knew what he was facing in going back to Minnesota, he was excited for the school dance his girlfriend had roped him into.

Dancing had never been his thing, but he was excited to do something with her. It would be a definite change from the dates they had at her house, and for once, they would be doing something that normal couples did.

"Are you excited for the dance?" Jim asked, as they pulled off the highway near their house.

"Yeah," Dean said, as he stifled a yawn.

The journey had been long, and he was glad for the chance to sleep in his own bed again.

"Good."

"What dance?" Sam asked.

"It's a Spring Fling dance they're having at school," Dean explained. "I'm going with my girlfriend."

"Can I go?"

"No," Dean said, as he shook his head. "You're not in the grade to go."

"Oh. Is your girlfriend a babe?"

Dean nearly spit out his water. "Is she a _what_?"

"Is she a babe?" Sam repeated innocently.

"How did you-you know what? Never mind."

Obviously Sam had learned that phrase from either Dean or Caleb, since both of them loosely used the saying sometimes around the house.

"Sam, that's not a polite way to describe someone," Jim said.

"She's very..._pretty_," Dean said finally.

"Okay," Sam said with a shrug, as though he had finally gotten the question answered that he wanted answered.

"We're home," Jim said.

"Awesome!"


	27. Chapter 27

Getting ready for the dance at his school, Dean couldn't help but feel a _little _excited in spite of himself. Even though dancing was _not _his "thing", it would serve as a wonderful counter to all of the negative that had been shaping his life.

His girlfriend, Katie, had roped him into going, claiming that it would be a fun, relaxed way to introduce him to her friends. Dean honestly had no idea they were getting _that_ serious, but he decided to humor her, anyway.

The dress code was relaxed. Students had the option of either dressing up or down, depending on their own personal style.

Dean chose a mixture of the two, as he took one last look at himself in the bathroom mirror before going downstairs and into the living room where Jim was waiting to take him.

"You look very handsome," Jim remarked, as Dean got his coat on to combat the harsh Spring weather outside.

"Yeah, right," Dean said with a scoff. "I look like one of those drama dorks."

That was exactly why he didn't like dressing up for _anything_. It brought him out of his comfort zone, even though he had tried dressing _to _his comfort instead of against it.

"No, I'm serious, you look very handsome."

"Well, then you need your eyes checked, old man," Dean said, throwing him a quick grin to show he was only teasing him.

"And _you _need your mouth washed out with soap."

"Yeah, right."

"Are you ready to go now?"

Dean nodded, glancing up at the clock. It was getting closer and closer to the time when they were supposed to arrive at the school, and despite his forced air of calmness, he was feeling jittery about the whole thing.

Normally, interacting with people didn't bother him as much. It was when he had to dance or pretend like he knew what he was doing, that it became another matter altogether.

"Thanks for dropping me off," Dean said, as they started down the road toward the school. Since their town was relatively small, the trip to the school only took a few minutes plus a stoplight.

"No problem," Jim assured him. "What time am I supposed to pick you up?"

"Is eleven good?"

"Yes, just make sure you're out here."

"I will be."

"Have _fun_," Jim emphasized.

"I will," Dean said, as he closed the door.

Having fun had been the entire idea in which he had based his decision to go in the first place. His home life had been shot to hell, and each passing day only served to remind him of how much he had lost, and how much he was continuing to lose.

Going to a school function, being normal, all the things that he normally loved doing, it was all in the hope that he would be able to forget the fact that Caleb was gone, even if it was only for a few hours.

Walking toward the fountain where they had previously arranged to meet, he was surprised at the spring in his step as he spotted her.

To his relief, she had dressed down, too. The dress that she had chosen for the occasion, wasn't too flashy and it wasn't too outlandish. It was simple but beautiful on her.

"Hi," she said, smiling shyly before planting a chaste kiss on his cheek.

That was okay with him. They had never talked about personal boundaries in their relationship. It had only been a month or two since they had even started dating, but this felt right.

"Hey," he said, returning the kiss, but with double the amount of confidence that she had displayed. "You ready to go?"

They had arranged to meet up at the fountain so they could walk to the dance together. As they began the short walk to the school, the cold weather nipping at their exposed skin, Dean found his arm subconsciously winding around her shoulder, pulling her close.

She didn't resist the touch, as she shivered. Instead, her hand snaked down to grasp his. "Is that okay?" she asked, not sure if that touch was allowed or not.

"Yeah," he said, as his breathing hitched. "It's fine."

The inside of the school, once they arrived inside it, was decorated sparsely. Banners welcoming the students, was spread across the gym where the dance was being held, and tables that had once belonged in the cafeteria, were now playing host to bowls of food and refreshments.

"Do you want to get some punch?" Dean asked.

"Sure."

Gently leading her over to the punch bowl, he scooped her some and handed her the plastic cup.

"Where are your friends?" he asked, surveying the people congregated before them.

"They're out dancing," she said, setting her cup dow, her tone full of implications.

"Oh. Okay."

Dancing had never been his stronger point. It was a great way to attract the ladies, but he had always been painfully awkward out on the dance floor, and therefore tried to avoid it whenever he could.

"You've never been to one of these, have you?" she guessed.

"Guilty," he admitted.

"That's okay. You don't know how to?"

"My feet have different ideas than my head."

"Oh," she said, with a cute-ish giggle. "I can teach you some moves."

"O...kay."

Cautiously curious, he decided to allow her to lead him out onto the floor, and show him the moves that she promised she would.

"Put your hand in mine," she whispered, as her body automatically began to move to the beat of the music.

He did as he was instructed. "Okay, this is easy so far."

"Okay, now move your hips, and more importantly, your feet. After that, just let your body do the moving."

Dean nodded, his breathing hitched as he tried to control the movement of his limbs, and follow the instructions she had laid out to him.

It wasn't that hard, he had to admit.

Once he let his body respond naturally to what it was telling him, it was a cakewalk.

"Did you have fun?" she asked, after the dance had ended.

"I did."

And for the first time since he had heard about Caleb's upcoming trial, he was able to relax, and enjoy things again. The dance had been a huge step in putting himself out there again, and he was glad that he had.


	28. Chapter 28

"Where is Caleb?"

The one question that Dean and Jim had tried to avoid have come from Sam's curious mouth. For the most part, they had succeeded. Sam had, for the most part, believed the lie they had fed him, that he was on a long job.

It was only a matter of time until the other shoe dropped, and they knew it.

Sam couldn't be kept in the dark forever. No matter how much they wished that for the rambunctious child.

"We told you, Sam," Dean said, fighting to keep the tears from his eyes, as he focused on the boring and repetitive schoolwork in front of him.

"I know, but is he somewhere _else_?"

"No."

Bowing his head, he wrote out another answer to his math problem, and tried to ignore answering the questions that his brother had about Caleb and his whereabouts.

"Is he on another job?"

"No."

"Dean-"

"Sam," Dean said, as he swiveled around in his chair to face his brother. "All you have to know, is that Caleb loves us _very _much, and he would _never _do _anything_ to hurt _anyone._"

After all, the reason Caleb was where he was, was because of his devotion and love for him and his brother. If Caleb hadn't been so concerned about the repercussions of running and what it would have done to the boys, he might very well be out.

That fact hadn't escaped Dean's mind, and it only increased his guilt, his sadness over this whole, ridiculous ordeal.

"Dean, why are you sad?" Sam asked quietly, as he scooted closer to his older brother.

"I'm...not," Dean said, as he hastily scrubbed away the fear tears that had managed to slip past his eyes. "I just miss Caleb."

"Can't you call him?"

After all, Sam didn't know any different. Whenever Caleb was out on a regular job, he always made sure to call and talk to the boys before he went to sleep at night.

"No, not this time."

Dean would have given his right arm if it meant that he could share some kind of contact with his guardian, but for whatever reason, Caleb and Jim both thought it would be better if that waited.

"Okay," Sam said quietly.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I just need some time alone, okay?"

"Me time?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

He waited until Sam had quietly closed his door, before he momentarily gave himself over to the tears, before wiping them stubbornly on his shirt.

Every once in awhile, when the pain just got to be too much to bear, he would turn himself over to the tears, the grief that he had tried so hard to suppress.

One issue that was nagging at his mind, was that jury selection for the upcoming trial, was rapidly approaching in a few days.

Each step that brought them closer to the trial, meant another sleepless night for Dean. It was bad enough that Caleb had been cut off from them for those two months, but Dean couldn't even imagine what would happen if Caleb went on trial, and was convicted.

It was unthinkable; horrific.

"Dean?" Jim said, as he came into the room. "Sam said you were upset."

"I'm fine."

Typical Sam, who loved to rat out his brother, or somehow find a way to do the exact opposite of what Dean wanted him to do.

Focusing on his homework was useless. His brain was moving in too many erratic directions for him to focus on that.

"Come on, Dean," Jim said softly. "What's bothering you? I know you better than you know _yourself _sometimes."

Dean sighed deeply as he ran his sleeve along his eyes. "Sam, he keeps bringing Caleb up, and it's _really _not helping me."

"Oh," Jim said, as he nodded in understanding. "I understand now. Whenever he brings him up, it brings everything back to the surface, doesn't it?"

Dean nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Are you worried about this trial?"

Another nod.

"Right now," Jim said, as he touched Dean's knee gently with his hand. "We're going to get through the jury selection, and get through this one day at a time.

"I've been trying to get through it one day at a time for _two months_," Dean said, "and it's not getting _any _easier."

In many ways, it had gotten worse.

There were so many things he wanted to share with Caleb that he couldn't, because of his incarceration.

"The trial will be short. A few weeks and that's it. After that, we'll finally be able to get some closure on this."

"And what if that "closure" is getting used to the fact that he'll be serving out a life sentence?"

"No," Jim said, as he shook his head. "We can't think about that now."

"Why not?"

"Because it hasn't happened, and tormenting ourselves with the what ifs, won't help anyone."

Dean shook his head as he bit down on the end of his pencil. "Have you seen him lately?"

At least _someone _in his family had been allowed to have regular contact with him.

"I have."

"And?" Dean prompted, raising an eyebrow. "How is he?"

"Good. The prosecutor, however, is trying to establish a pattern of past similar behavior, and is trying to connect him to another murder and robbery that took place."

"Can he charge him with those?"

It would be the last thing they would need, and Dean couldn't even imagine having to watch as Caleb was charged with another crime he had no part in.

"No. There's not enough evidence to link him to those."

Dean nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. "How long is the jury selection going to take?"

"A day, maybe two."

"Okay, and when does the trial start after that?"

"The week after."

"Okay."

Even though Dean was dreading having the trial happen, at least the case would finally be over either way, and they wouldn't have it hanging over their heads anymore.

* * *

Over the course of his imprisonment, Caleb had found a way to appreciate anytime spent out of his cell, even if it meant facing another round with the prosecutor in court.

The cell, while large enough to comfortably move around in, had become almost claustrophobic, confining as he was forced to spend nearly twenty hours a day in that place, except for when he was in court.

But today, was the first in what promised to be _many _stressful days in court. Today was the first day of jury selection. The process would be long, nearly a day to two days of questions submitted to the horde that flocked in.

Calmly allowing the guards to handcuff and shackle him, he breathed a sigh as he was loaded into the police van for the short journey downtown.

Having to ride in the van, having to walk out in shackles and cuffs, it almost gave him the illusion that he _was _a criminal, that he _did _deserve to be there.

The courtroom where the proceedings would be held, was the same one that he had been in for the other appearances, and where the trial would most likely be held.

Waiting patiently while they took his restraints off outside the courtroom door, he tried to envision a successful outcome, tried to imagine that Dawn would find a fair and impartial jury pool.

"This will be the easiest part of all of this," Dawn whispered to him, once he had been seated there by the guards.

"How long does it normally take?"

"A day, maybe two."


	29. Chapter 29

Caleb was sure he had never felt sicker in his life than he did right at that moment, as he sat in court with Dawn. It was the first morning of opening statements, the official start of the trial that had plagued his mind (and nightmares) for weeks.

Closing his eyes against the intense nausea he felt, he listened as the judge rattled off final instructions to the jury for the course of the trial, before he opened the floor for the prosecution.

It was a shame that the hierarchy of prosecution vs defense put the prosecution above Dawn. He would have much rather had her speak first, than the prosecutor who clearly had it out for him.

But he supposed it was better to get his side of it over with first thing, so he wouldn't have to dwell on it the rest of the afternoon.

The prosecution had the largest pressure of all on their shoulders: the burden of proof, therefore they got to go first.

As Mark Riley, lead prosecutor, took to the floor with all the arrogance and swagger in the world, Caleb tried his hardest to keep a straight face, knowing that anything else would not appeal in any way to the jury.

It was hard, though.

Knowing he would have to listen to this man slander his name, and make up false accusations against him, ones that could land him behind bars for the rest of his life.

"Good morning," Mark Riley said, as he paced the length of the limited space he had, as he glanced at the jury. "I am sure that I will not be the first in thanking you for the incredible sacrifice you have made in being a part of these proceedings.

I promise you that our aim is to make this as short and to the point as possible, and I also promise you that during the course of the next few weeks, you will have all the information you will need in order to render an appropriate verdict."

As Caleb shifted uncomfortably in his seat, he glanced at Dawn, and saw nothing but the cool and composed manner in which she had conducted herself for the entire course of the court battle.

"This all started," Mark said, "with Alexia Branch. A young girl at the peak of her life. A normal girl with friends, a boyfriend, job and an apartment. Things started to change in her life, her parents were murdered, and she turned to someone for help.

And the evidence that we will present to you during the course of these proceedings, will tell you that on October 28th 1990, the person that she _trusted _and the person that would ultimately end her life, is sitting right in this room. Caleb Rivers."

It took all of Caleb's self-restraint not to react to what he was saying. It was infuriating, and it was hurtful, but above all, it scared Caleb. The jurors could very well choose to look at this from the perspective of the prosecution, and anything he said, would have an impact on them.

Over the course of the next hour, the prosecutor repeatedly hammered in the wealth of physical evidence that was against Caleb. Since they were not allowed to use the blood evidence against him, the prosecution had to resort to other means to achieve their goal.

The one sticking issue were the lies that Caleb had told when he had been interrogated during the early days of the investigation.

"As you will see," the prosecutor said, "he lies. When he was brought in for questioning, he tried to cover his tracks by lying. He claimed that the murder weapon wasn't his, he claimed that he was nowhere _near _the crime scene when Miss Branch was murdered."

Swallowing back the retort that was on the edge of his tongue, Caleb forced himself to take a deep breath as tears of frustration burned behind his eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dawn shooting him anxious glances, no doubt wondering if her client would be capable of controlling himself in open court.

Choosing to go out with a bang, after almost an hours worth of overly dramatic testimony, Mark Riley showed a photograph taken from the security footage of when the shifter entered her apartment.

"And by the end of this trial, we will prove that the defendant was there. This picture that was taken was taken minutes before the murder took place, which we will prove

Thank you."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Caleb was relieved when the prosecutor sat back down and the judge called a lunch break.

The guards had locked him in a room for the duration of the lunch break, since there wasn't an actual cell to place him in at the moment.

To his relief, Dawn had chosen that time to hold a meeting with him to update him on their plan and what she was planning on saying to the jury for her opening statement.

"What's your take on the prosecution's opening?"

The sandwich that was in front of him, remained untouched. His nerves were too jittery for him to care much about it, and he was sure his stomach wouldn't even be able to tolerate it, anyway.

"It was strong," she conceded, "but they actually have to back up what they claim they're going to prove."

"What if he proves this, Dawn?"

"It's possible, I'm not going to lie, but I have proof of my own."

"You do?"

_That _was new.

"I do, and if we play our cards right, it could be a major win for us."

Caleb nodded, trying to take some comfort from that as he shakily unscrewed the cap from his water bottle, and took a long gulp from it.

"What about the video evidence?"

"I believe I have something to refute it."

"I believe you."

* * *

Seated back in court, Caleb watched as Dawn reviewed her final notes, before addressing the jury.

"Thank you for being here," she said, as she faced the jury as she stood at the podium. "And thank you for the sacrifices you have made in contributing to these proceedings."

After that, she reviewed the basic facts of the case, which the prosecution had done, but with her own spin on things.

"There are two things I will prove during the course of this trial. One, lack of motive and the fact that my client did _not _return to the scene of the crime before the murder."

Dawn had just played her first deck of cards, and Caleb sincerely hoped she had actual evidence to back up the claim she had just made.


	30. Chapter 30

Dean was on edge the entire day. His body buzzing with nervous energy, as he tried to focus through the dull and repetitive schoolwork he had. Anything to get his mind off the first day of Caleb's trial, even going to school.

Jim had given him the option of staying home, but he had opted to go, believing that maybe his friends and the teachers would serve as some form of distraction for him.

They didn't.

Each and every negative emotion he had tried so hard to suppress over the last two months, had come back to the surface with a vengeance.

His friends knew something was wrong, even though he casually blew off their concerns and questions, and _tried _to act invested and interested in their own lives and stories, but his heart wasn't in it like it usually was.

The last few months had been the epitome of hell, and now it was all coming full circle as the trial started, and they would finally have some closure in the next few weeks.

Dean refused to believe that Caleb would be convicted. Instead choosing to believe that he would be acquitted of the brutal murder, and be allowed to return home to him and his brother.

It was the only way he could even remotely stay upright instead of folding up into a tight ball. Dean honestly didn't know what he or Sam would do if they lost another person in their ever growing list.

It was too horrific to even think about.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and shoved his way through the rest of the school hour. When he and the rest of the student body were finally able to board the long line of buses, he breathed a secretive sigh of relief.

Sam knew something was wrong with his brother. As the bus bumped and rolled along the country roads toward their house, Sam treacherously made his way over to where his brother was sitting.

"Dean, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean said, as he looked up at the arm Sam had laid along the back of his bus.

"Okay," Sam said, still looking unsure as he went back to sit with his friends.

Just like Dean constantly worried about Sam, his brother was beginning to do the same for him.

When their bus finally stopped outside of their home, Dean grabbed his things, waited for Sam, and glady walked through the door and into his home.

Jim wasn't there yet. No doubt he was either still finishing things up at work, or he was at the courthouse.

Trying to shove as much of it back as he could, Dean made a quick sandwich for the two of them, and dug out the mountainous pile of homework he had been assigned by his teachers.

"What's that?" Sam asked, looking at the complicated math problems in front of him.

Normally, he was a whiz at math and other problems like that, but he had no idea what he was looking at when he sneaked a glance at Dean's advanced homework.

"Pre-algebra."

"What's that?"

"Math."

"That's not math," Sam said, wrinkling his nose. "There are letters there!"

Dean grinned as he jotted down an answer to one of the easier problems. "Yeah, you have those when you get further along."

Sam looked horrified, before he finished eating his food and took out his own homework to complete.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Is Caleb...not coming home?"

Dean paused, his pencil hovering above a problem. "Why would you say that?"

"Because he hasn't been here in so long."

"Sam," Dean said with a sigh, "he's doing everything he can to come back to us."

"But what does that _mean_?"

If there was one thing Dean hated about his brother, it was that he could be so persistent in the absolute worst of times.

"It _means _that he's in an adult situation, and he is doing all he can to get out of it."

"Is he okay?"

"Yes."

In reality, he wasn't, but Dean wouldn't traumatize his little brother's mind by telling him the horrors that Caleb was experiencing in lockup.

It was too much even for _him _some days.

No, it was better that Sam know as little as possible.

Thankfully, he was saved the task of answering further questions, when Jim walked through the door.

"Hi, boys," Jim said, "have you had anything to eat?"

"Yeah, we're good," Dean said, as he met his gaze questioningly.

There was so much they couldn't say in front of Sam, and Dean really wanted to know the outcome of the first day of the trial.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long. Sam soon went out in the living room to watch one of his favorite cartoons, leaving Jim and Dean with a perfection opportunity to discuss the case.

"What happened?" Dean asked quietly, as he busied himself with putting the leftover dishes in the dishwasher.

"Well, the prosecution went first, and that lasted almost the entire morning. And then after the lunch break, Dawn got her chance to take the floor."

"And what did _she _say?"

"She promised that by the end of the trial, she would have revealed that Caleb was never at the apartment when she died."

Dean shrugged, as he turned away from Jim. "Kind of a big promise, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but she apparently knows what she's talking about, or she wouldn't have said anything at all."

"Yeah, I guess."

* * *

The first day of the trial was over, and Caleb couldn't have been more relieved. The opening statements had been just the beginning in what promised to be an intense and stressful next few weeks.

The prosecutor had had a strong opening, but so had Dawn, and it was hard to know just by looking at the jury, how they were perceiving things.

Either side could be winning them over, and they would have no idea until the verdict came through.

What consoled him was one thing.

All she had to prove was reasonable doubt.

If she instilled enough doubt in the jury's mind, that would be enough to earn him an acquittal.


	31. Chapter 31

Week one of the trial (and the prosecution's case) was over. It had taken them nearly five days of intense (and most times) brutal testimony to drive their point home for the jury.

Even though Caleb had often sneaked discreet glances at the jury during the course of the prosecution's unwavering case, all he could see was careful concentration and methodical note-taking.

Even though Caleb was relieved that he no longer had to hear Mark Riley spout his crap every five minutes, now that it was Dawn's turn to present _her _case, it only meant that the trial was one step closer to ending, and the jury rendering their verdict.

Dawn had promised them that she would prove conclusively that he had _not _been there the night of the murder, and so far he was still waiting to see what she had meant by that promise, that had so many far-reaching consequences if she was right or wrong.

That Monday morning as he sat in court, he anxiously waited for her to call her first witness to the stand. So far, all the prosecution had called, were various experts in security footage, and detectives from Lexa's disappearance, but he was waiting to see how _she _would play the cards that she had been dealt.

"The defense calls Richard Branch to the stand."

_That _promised to be good. Lexa's uncle, the only family that she had had before her murder, and the family that he had spent several hours with when he had first arrived in their town.

So far, they had been on his side. He didn't know if their position had changed with the revelation of the video evidence, but he would see.

"State your name for the record," Dawn said, as she approached the podium.

"Richard Branch, R-I-C-H-A-R-D B-R-A-N-C-H."

"And what is your relation to the victim?"

"I-I'm her uncle," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "Or I was."

Caleb's heart broke while listening to the pain in the man's voice. It wasn't enough that he had lost her parents, his brother. He then had to live through having his nephew arrested for those murders, and then having to lose Lexa, too.

Caleb couldn't even imagine the hell he and his wife were going through.

"And how did you come to meet the defendant?" Dawn asked, her voice lowering in the slightest in a show of sympathy for Richard Branch's plight.

"Lexa brought him to the house a few days before-" unable to go on, he stopped himself, as he accepted the box of tissues the bailiff handed to him.

"Okay," she said quietly, "and why did she do that? To meet a new friend, or something else?"

Caleb had confided in Dawn the reason he had been there in the first place, to help her family find out who had framed their nephew for Lexa and her brother's parent's murder.

"No, uh, she brought him by the house because he was someone who could help. Someone who could help us find out who was setting our nephew up."

Dawn nodded thoughtfully. "And what was your impression of him?' 

"Good. I liked him."

"And you had absolutely no compunctions about Lexa and the defendant taking off for her place after she had just met him?"

"No, because Lexa was a smart girl, and she would never run off with someone she didn't trust."

"And do _you _trust him?"

"Yes. I can only go by what my gut tells me, and that's he's not guilty of this."

Caleb breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't imagine anything having a bigger impact on the jury than the victim's own uncle telling the jury that he didn't do it.

"And you're sure?"

"Yes."

Glancing over at the jury, he could see their carefully composed expressions as they took down their notes.

It was difficult to know what they were thinking, but he supposed that was a good thing.

After Richard left the stand, there was a brief break for lunch, followed by the conclusion of the hearing for the day.

Dawn's final witness was a video expert.

"Which areas of the town do you cover?" she asked.

"The streets covering fifth and third street."

"Okay, and around 9:45 PM on October 28th 1990, your cameras were recording, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"How often do your cameras capture images?"

"Every three to four seconds." 

"Okay, and what did you see on or right around 9:45 PM?"

"I saw him walking down the street."

"Who?"

"The defendant."

"Is he sitting in this room right now?"

"Yes."

Dawn nodded. "Can you be a hundred percent sure?"

"Yes."

Playing the video the man had brought, Caleb leaned foreword in his seat, and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest in pure relief.

It was clearly him walking down the street after he had gotten free from the sewer the shifter had dragged him down into.

Dawn had absolutely found a way to refute the video evidence, while introducing one of her own.

Reasonable doubt was an understatement, and Caleb just prayed that the jury would see it that way, that they would know they couldn't convict him with so many conflicting stories, not to mention two videos that both clearly showed him at the crime scene _and _several streets over at the same time.

"And this video was taken on the night of October 28th 1990?"

"Yes."

"Okay, thank you."


	32. Chapter 32

Dawn had proven reasonable doubt, at least in Caleb's mind. The revelation of the second video, the one that showed his true self after he had just escaped from the sewer, was bound to leave at least _some _doubt in the mind and eye's of the jury.

No one could be sure, though.

A jury pool was unpredictable; anyone knew that.

How one person perceived things, could be completely different in their eyes. All Caleb could do was hope and pray that Dawn had just managed to wipe out the prosecution's case, and earn him an acquittal.

The trial was winding down, and within days, he would have his answer either way. Dawn still had one final witness to call, and then the judge would be ready to schedule closing arguments.

It was a monumental moment, and one that Caleb wasn't altogether sure he was ready for yet. In many ways he would be relieved to have the trial behind him, but it was the _after _that he was most concerned about.

Dawn had found a way to introduce reasonable doubt into their minds, and the decision they would have to make after the judge dismissed them. But what about the prosecution? Had they made enough of an impression that they would ignore the evidence Dawn had given them?

That scared him.

Literally _any _decision could be handed down, and he would have no choice but to live with whatever the jury decided for him.

The final witness would be scheduled for that afternoon, and then the judge would make a determination about the date and time of closing statements.

"The defense calls Dr. Mark Awning to the stand."

Even though the blood evidence had been thrown out before the trial had started, that didn't mean that _other _forensic evidence, was limits.

Particularly, the key issue were the lack of cuts and bruises on Caleb after he had committed the so-called "murder."

"Please state your name and profession for the record," Dawn said, as she coolly approached the podium.

"Sure. Mark Awning. M-A-R-K A-W-N-I-N-G. I am a forensic investigator."

"Okay, and how long have you been working as a forensic investigator?"

"About ten years, ma'am."

"Okay, and what is your company's name?"

"Oakland Forensics Department."

"Thank you. You could say that you are well-versed in how forensics is handled and photographed, right?"

"Yes."

"And from experience, you would have a pretty good idea of the kind of marks that a victim would potentially leave on her assailant, correct?"

"I believe so."

Dawn nodded, as she showed the photographs from the crime scene. The blood evidence had been omitted, but she still used the available evidence to her gain.

The first photograph depicted Caleb's hands, taken by a photographer after his initial police interview.

Not to his surprise, his hands were spotless.

"His hands don't have any marks on them," she said, stating the obvious. "Isn't it true that a suspect would have marks on them if they committed such a brutal crime?"

"If the victim were to have struggled, then yes."

And they all knew from the signs at the apartment, that Lexa had put up a good fight against the shifter.

"So it's impossible that he would have _zero _marks on his body."

"Typically, yes."

"No further questions."

Relaxing back against his seat, he listened as the prosecution asked the man a few simple questions, before releasing him from the stand.

Feeling lighter than he had in months, he listened as the judge set a date for the closing arguments. They were set for the following day, and would last the entire day as both sides were given one final chance to appeal to the jury.

Caleb felt nauseous as he entered the courtroom the morning of closing arguments. It was the final step before the case was officially handed off to the jury.

The decision they had to make, was monumental, but it was the emotional burden _he _and the boys had to carry, that mattered to him.

As the time dragged on longer and longer, his anxiety over not seeing the boys, only deepened. When Jim came to see him, he of course, gave him updates on them, but it wasn't the same as actually being there day in and day out with them.

The prosecution's closing arguments lasted the better part of the entire morning, as the prosecutor continually hammered in the importance of paying attention to the evidence that drove in his guilt, and urged them to make the right call in convicting him.

"That is your duty," he reminded them, "to make a decision according to the evidence presented to you."

Caleb resisted the urge to roll his eyes. When Dawn was given the chance to present her case one last time to the jury, he breathed a sigh of relief as he leaned foreword in his seat to listen to her.

"Good morning," Dawn said, as she looked down at her notes, before looking up as she addressed the jury assembled before them. "I want to thank you for the incredible sacrifice you have made over the last several weeks.

We've taken you from your family's, your homes, and your lives."

As Caleb listened to her, he could see the jury lean foreword as they listened. That was slightly encouraging to him, because when Mark Riley was speaking, they couldn't have looked less interested.

"I made a promise to you that I would prove my client's innocence, and I made a promise that I would find a way to refute the evidence presented by the prosecution, and I believe that I have."

After that, she lunged into an hours long presentation of the physical evidence that had been collected, and how it exonerated Caleb.

The final point that she saved for last, was the video evidence that _she _had found.

"If you look at this video," she said, as she pointed to the video that was playing for the jury. "And you note the time on the video as 9:45 PM, you will know that it would have to be virtually _impossible _for my client to be there, and be on the other side of town to murder Alexia Branch. Fact is, she was murdered around the same time my client was seen walking on third street. All you need to make an appropriate verdict, is the video that is right before you.

It is your duty to make the right call, and reunite an innocent man with his family, and grant him his liberty and his freedom back."

When she concluded her closing statement, the judge gave a final set of instructions to the jury, before dismissing them to begin deliberations.


	33. Chapter 33

A verdict had been reached.

After a night and half a morning of deliberations, the jury had signaled to the judge that they had reached a verdict in a case that had been hanging over Caleb's head for the past year, at _least_.

Because he had been in the detention center when the verdict was decided, the judge allowed both parties a certain amount of time to get to the courthouse before it was read.

After the breakfast hour, which was when the verdict was reached, the guards came and got Caleb, put his restraints on him, and led him out the police van that was parked in the underground parking garage.

Leaning his head back against the wall, Caleb tried to breathe as evenly as he could. It was terrifying to know that within the hour, he would know whether or not he was bound for prison, or freedom.

His heart thumping manically in his chest, he tried to swallow back the bile that was rising in his throat, as he stared out the one window that was in the back of the van.

They were getting closer now-the courthouse was in sight, as the van veered off the beaten path and drove down into the underground courthouse parking lot.

Grateful that the nauseating journey was over, he allowed them to lead him out of the van, take off his restraints and lead him into the packed courtroom.

Only a handful of spectators were seated, Jim among them. Dawn was seated at the defense table, and looked over when the guard came and sat him down beside her.

"Have you heard anything?" he whispered, hoping to glean some insight into what the jury had decided.

"No," she whispered back, "I don't know anything. Typically, the longer they take, the better the chance of acquittal."

From his estimation, they had been deliberating for only a few hours. Not a good sign for him, if he was to believe what Dawn was saying.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to remain upright, and ignore the sickening pounding of his own blood rushing to his ears, as the judge approached the bench.

"Good afternoon," he said, "we are here today, May 1st 1991 to come to a resolution on this case. The jury has their verdict, and do you have a foreperson?"

"We do," one of the only women on the panel said.

"Thank you. Before we publish the reading, I want to caution everyone in this room today, to remain calm during the reading of this verdict, and if there is any disruption, the bailiff will have the obligation to remove that person disturbing these proceedings."

Caleb felt sick as he closed his eyes, trying to gain control of his emotions. His heart was pounding frantically in his chest, making him dizzy.

This was it.

No matter what decision was handed down, he would have to live with it. Even if it was the worst possible outcome he could imagine, he would have no choice but to accept it the best he could and move on.

"Mr. Rivers, could you please stand and face the jury?"

Standing up with Dawn, his legs felt like Jell-O as he forced himself to stare at the twelve men and women who would decide his fate, who would either make it possible or _impossible _to return home to the boys.

After that, the judge signaled for the foreperson to read the verdict aloud.

"Superior Court of Minnesota," the foreperson said, as she began to read the verdict. "In the matter of the people of the state of Minnesota vs. Caleb Rivers, case number BA586001. We, the jury, in the above entitled action find the defendant Caleb Rivers, not guilty of the crime of murder in violation of Penal Code Section 609."

Caleb was speechless, but in the best possible way. For a second, he wasn't sure he had heard them correctly. The only thing that brought him back down to earth, was Dawn reaching out and giving him a hug.

"Congratulations," she whispered.

"Thank you," he whispered, as he returned the hug.

She had literally just saved his life. Saved him from a life sentence, and made it possible to be a part of the boy's lives again.

It was really over.

Since he had been acquitted of the murder charge against him, it made it impossible for the prosecution to _ever _retry him for the same offense again. Even if he were to shout it from the rooftop that he had killed her, they couldn't do a thing about it because of double jeopardy laws.

Months of fighting for this, nearly three of those months spent behind bars, and it was all over. Finally, he had something to smile about, and he did.

Even if he had to go back to jail to serve out the remainder of his credit card fraud sentence, he would do it with a smile on his face, knowing that there would be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Finally, things were looking up.


	34. Chapter 34

Still reeling (in the best possible way) from his acquittal, Caleb listened while the judge thanked the jury for their service, dismissed them, and then turned to Dawn, who had been seated with Caleb.

"Now, I received the note you left on my desk. You wanted to address something?"

"Yes, Your Honor," she said, as she stood. "If we have time right now."

"We do. You may proceed."

"Your Honor, my client was just acquitted of the first degree murder charge, and as you know, he has been sentenced to a reduced sentence of six months for credit card fraud. I was wondering if it would be at all possible for him to be released, and serve the rest of the three months on probation."

Caleb held his breath while he watched the judge silently contemplate Dawn's proposal to him. He was prepared for the judge to say no, to inform him that he was lucky enough to get off with murder, and to suck it up.

And he would.

Caleb honestly would have no problem going back to that cell, as long as he was promised freedom in three months, and he knew he would now.

"Has he had any disciplinary action while in custody?"

"No. He hasn't been in any fights or had any action taken against him. He's been, really, a model prisoner," Dawn said, with a shrug.

The judge nodded, as though he had made up his mind. "Does the State have any objections to this?"

Not surprisingly, they did. Furious that he had lost his case, the prosecutor lunged into a five minute rambling list of reasons as to why Caleb shouldn't be allowed to go home.

In the end, it was up to the judge. And no one could have changed that, not even the prosecutor.

"Would your client be willing to accept conditions associated with the probation if I were to release him?"

"Yes."

No kidding. If he was allowed to walk out of that courtroom a free man, he would have been willing to accept any terms, no matter what the cost.

"Does he already have gainful employment?"

"Yes, he does."

Caleb was grateful for the job he had as a construction worker (and even more grateful that he happened to be friends with the owner of the place), and grateful for the job on the side he had as a weapons dealer.

The latter wasn't as reputable as the first, but it would allow him to get by in a pinch.

"Okay, and what are the hours he has to work?"

Dawn looked at him questioningly, not knowing the answer.

"Tell him nine to six," he whispered to her, as she leaned in close to hear his answer.

"Nine to six," she replied to the judge.

"Okay," the judge said thoughtfully, "would your client agree to a curfew of nine to six for the duration of his probation?"

"Yes." Dawn said, after a quick nod of agreement from Caleb.

"And would he agree to stay in the town limits?"

"Yes."

"Okay," he said, "I will release your client from custody. If, for some reason, he fails to follow any of these stipulations, he will be remanded back into custody for the duration of his sentence."

"Thank you, Your Honor."

* * *

Caleb's mind was in a complete fog, as the judge dismissed them. In a matter of hours, he had gone from being incarcerated, to being allowed freedom.

It was a miracle in the truest sense of the word.

He had to go back to the detention center to sign some final release papers, and get the name and number of his probation officer, but those were minor formality's that were over with in a few minutes tops.

Slipping on the clothes he had turned himself in with, it made the blessed reality, even sweeter. Even though the clothes hadn't been washed, they still felt like he was wearing little pieces of heaven.

"You ready to go?" Jim asked, when he saw Caleb walk out into the waiting area of the jail.

"Am I ever," Caleb said, with a groan.

Walking out those doors, and getting his first taste of freedom in over ninety days, he felt like a different person as he walked with a notable spring in his step toward Jim's car.

Not that he hadn't gotten to be outside during his incarceration, but it was different when he knew that he was walking out to freedom.

His heart steadily returning to normal, he shook his head in disbelief at the course of events that had led to this moment.

It was truly perfect.

When they pulled into their driveway, he glanced at the time. It was nearing 1:30. The perfect amount of time to shower and take a much needed nap before the boys got home from school around 4 or 4:30.

"What are you planning on doing?" Jim asked, as he watched Caleb glance around the house, as if it was the first time he had ever been in there.

"Take a shower and crash until Sam and Dean get home."

"Sounds good."


	35. Chapter 35

It was funny how you take things for granted once you don't have them anymore. For Caleb, it was the simple things and it was the bigger things, too.

He hadn't realized how fortunate he was to have a nice, warm bed, clothing and being able to enjoy private showers, (a rarity in the detention center he had been housed in), and not to mention, the boys.

For nearly three months, he had been cut off from them by choice (and necessity). A consequence of choosing to voluntarily turn himself over to the authorities for prosecution to avoid having any of that, follow him back home to where the boys were.

It had been heartrending saying goodbye to them, and not know when he would be lucky enough to see them again. It had been the hardest part of his incarceration, imagining all the things they were doing that he was missing out on.

Thankfully (and luckily), he had been acquitted of the murder charge that would have guaranteed him an automatic life sentence, and in another fortunate twist, he had been allowed to serve out the remainder of his sentence for fraud, on probation.

Not that it didn't come with conditions, but he would gladly take those over more time spent behind bars, any day.

Even though he was exhausted from his many sleepless nights behind bars and wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bed until Sam and Dean arrived home from school, the first order of business was to take a shower.

He had had them while in jail, but there had always been that uncomfortable feeling, like he was being watched, and he knew that he was. Showers were never entirely private in the jail, and there was always someone standing by in case a fight broke out, or someone tried to escape.

Therefore, he was relieved to finally be able to enjoy a _private_, warm shower. With no time limits on how long he had, and a chance to finally breathe for the first time.

Once he was out and had dressed in a pair of his most comfortable clothes, he went into his room, closed the door, set his alarm, and collapsed on his bed.

He hadn't even been lying there a few minutes, before he was out. For months he had been craving a chance to finally achieve _real _sleep, and finally he was getting it.

It felt like he had only been asleep for a few minutes (though in reality, it had been about two hours), when his alarm went off.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he glanced at the time on it. Nearly four. The boys would be home within the hour, and have the surprise of their lives, at least where Dean was concerned.

"Hey," Jim said, looking up when Caleb came in the kitchen. "Sleep good?"

"You bet, it was like heaven."

"I'm sure. You want a shot?"

Caleb shrugged, before nodding. "Yeah, gimme one."

Typically, they never drank in front of the boys, but it was relieving to be able to enjoy another comfort of home that he had sorely been missing when the situation called for it.

It was a celebration of the simple fact that he didn't ever have to have this weight on his shoulders again. For the first time in months, he would be allowed to relax and know for a fact it would be long-lasting.

As the alcohol singed down his throat, he finished off the shot quickly, just in time for the sounds of the bus to reach his ears.

"Don't tell him that I'm here," Caleb said to Jim, as he disappeared into the other room.

Jim shook his head in amusement. "You got it."

As the door leading into the garage was flung open by two rambunctious boys, Caleb listened closely as their feet thudded against the hardwood kitchen flooring.

"Hey, boys," Jim said, "how was school?"

"Good," they chorused.

The sounds of their voices died down as they indulged themselves in the snacks that Jim had gotten out while he and Caleb had been talking.

"Dean," Jim said, as he beckoned the preteen over to him.

Caleb could hear Jim's voice lower, so Sam wouldn't hear. "The jury reached a verdict."

There was dead silence on Dean's end, as Caleb listened. "They did?" he whispered.

"Yeah, they did."

"And what was it?"

At that moment, Caleb crept out from behind the cover of the wall. "Not guilty," he said, grinning at the complete look of astonishment on Dean's face, as he spun around to face Caleb.

"How are you-"

Caleb laughed, shaking his head. "Just give me a hug, dude."

All of the questions Dean had, could wait until later. For now, he just wanted to revel in the fact that he could see them. For the first time in almost three months, he was being given the chance to reconnect with them.

As Dean immediately dove into his arms, and Caleb wrapped his arms around the child, he felt the most calming peace wash over him. He had been waiting to hug those boys for months, and it was finally there.

"Caleb!" Sam said, coming back into the room, and seeing him for the first time.

"Hey, Sammy!" Caleb said, as he picked him up. "Did you miss me?"

"Yes!"

Laughing, Caleb hugged him close. "Give me five?" he said, holding out his hand.

Sam giggled as he slapped his hand against Caleb's. "I don't want you to ever leave again."

Caleb nodded, as he looked down at Dean, his eyes brimming with tears of pure relief and love for those two kids. "I won't. Not ever, I promise."

"Okay," Sam said uncertainly.

"He's home for good," Dean said, looking to Caleb for confirmation of that fact, which Caleb supplied to him with a quick nod.

There were so many questions that Dean had. Why had Caleb gotten released so early, and what were the stipulations for that release.

But those could wait until later.

For now, all Dean cared about was that he had him back.

Finally.


	36. Chapter 36

Elated that he could finally get a chance to reconnect with Sam and Dean, Caleb didn't let the fact that he couldn't take them anywhere beyond the town limits, dampen his spirits. His probation requirements were well worth it if it kept him out of jail, and in the boys lives.

A quick jaunt to the pizza parlor was in order. It was a favorite haunt of both of theirs, and Caleb was relieved to be able to enjoy something _other _than the jail food that he had been subjected to for the past several months.

As he drove down their street and turned off onto the busy intersection, he grinned in complete peace and satisfaction as he heard Sam ramble about something to do with school, in the backseat, while Dean secretively traded glances with Caleb, and secretively rolled his eyes at his brother.

It was these moments that Caleb had missed so dearly. It was the moments where it was just him with one or both of the kids, and they were excitedly telling him about some event that had happened in their lives, or if it was just them talking as brothers, and he was a lucky listener to that.

"...And then my coach canceled practice for the _rest _of the night," Sam complained, as he waved his hands animatedly to illustrate his point.

"Did he really?" Caleb said, "just because some kid lost his lunch?"

"Well, he _was_ the goalie, so we really couldn't continue without him."

"It's called a fill-in," Dean said. "Ow!" he said, when Caleb pinched him.

"Oops," Caleb said, laughing. "Sorry."

"You're awful!"

"You know it."

Pretty soon, their verbal conversation stopped, and their stomachs did the talking as they inhaled slice after slice of pepperoni pizza and bread sticks.

Grateful to have something that wasn't jail food, Caleb helped himself to a generous amount of the pizza before sitting back and watching the boys as they devoured the slices off their plastic plate.

"This is _really _good," Dean said with a moan, as he finished off the pizza with a gulp of his soda.

"Can't argue with you there," Caleb said. "Sam, are you done?"

"Yeah."

Caleb wasn't surprised. They had both had two or three slices of the filling pizza each, with barely enough room left for the sugary treat that they had indulged in after.

The spring sun had long since set when the small family left the pizza parlor, and made it back to their car. The freezing air nipping at their exposed skin, they hurried their pace along as they clambered into the car.

"That was really awesome," Dean said, his breath still blowing out white puffs of air, as he turned up the heat in the car.

"Yeah, it was," Caleb said. "Sam, getting tired?"

Looking in the rearview mirror, he could see the newly eight-year-old's eyes begin to droop as he fought off the tiredness that had begun to take him hostage from all of the excitement he had had.

"No," Sam said, as he tried to shake it off, as he rubbed his eyes. "I don't get tired."

"Yeah, right," Dean said with a scoff, shaking his head in amusement. "See if you still say that when you get home and get on the couch."

"I won't fall asleep," Sam said simply.

"I dare you."

"Fine."

Grinning, Dean settled back against his seat as he looked out the window at all the passing farms and scenery. So much had happened in the course of only a few hours, that it was dizzying to him.

The last thing he _ever _expected was to see Caleb's face when he got home from school. It had been months since he had last seen the young hunter, and hearing that he had not only been acquitted of the horrific charges against him, but had been allowed to come home early, had been an unexpected treat.

"You okay?" Caleb said quietly, lying a hand on Dean's knee as he sneaked a glance in the backseat where Sam was quickly losing his battle against his fatigue.

"Yeah," Dean said, with a nod. "I'm good."

"Tired?"

Dean shrugged. "What happened?" he asked, avoiding the question.

Truth was, he was _exhausted _from everything that had transpired that afternoon, but that had been quickly trumped by the euphoria of having Caleb back months ahead of schedule.

Finally, something had gone _right. _

"I'll tell you later," Caleb said, as he glanced pointedly at the barely awake child in the backseat.

There was so much that he wanted to share with Dean about the trial, and the two decisions that had been handed down that had saved him from more time spent behind bars.

"Okay," Dean said, nodding understandingly as he slumped back against his seat.

There were so many questions he had, but he knew those would have to wait until they could safely talk about them later, in private.

By the time Caleb pulled back into their cozy neighborhood, Sam had fully fallen asleep. His little chest rising and falling adorably as his mouth hung open, a line of drool dangling precariously from his lip.

"What a dork," Dean whispered, catching sight of his comatose little brother.

"I got him," Caleb said, as he opened the backdoor of the car, and carefully lifted the sleeping boy in his arms. "Just get the door."

"Kay."

Sam barely stirred as Caleb carried him through the darkened house, up the stairs and to his bedroom where he untied his shoes, slid them off his feet and gently covered him with his blanket.

It was a routine that was very familiar to Caleb-Sam had fallen asleep many times like that, and either he or Jim usually had to carry him into the house and make sure he was situated comfortably.

Looking back at the sleeping child one last time, Caleb switched the lights off, made sure his nightlight was on, and went down in the basement where he knew Dean would be.

That place was an escape for them. A place to watch movies, train, or engage in conversation about something that needed discussing.

Tonight, even though he would have loved to put on some boxing gloves and take a whack at the punching bag, their time spent in the basement would purely be about relaxation and catching up on all of the things that he had missed while he was away.

And filling Dean in on some of the things that _he _had missed.

Not to his surprise, Dean was already down there, seated on the black leather couch that they had purchased when they had renovated the basement a year or two ago.

"I knew you'd be down here," Caleb said, as he took a seat next to Dean.

Now that he was sitting and not doing anything, he was taken aback by how tired he _really _was. Even though he had managed to sneak in a two hour nap before the boys had gotten home that afternoon, it hadn't been nearly enough to compensate for the total lack of sleep he had gotten during his time in custody.

"Yeah," Dean said, as he glanced at the ammunition magazine he had been reading before. "I figured I'd beat you down here. Is Sam in bed?"

"Oh, yeah, out like a light."

"Funny."

With a sigh, Dean put the magazine aside. "Okay, so what the _hell _happened this morning?"

Caleb laughed, before playfully shoving Dean in the shoulder. "Does Jim ever hear you talk like that?"

"Not really."

"Just when you're with me?"

"Pretty much."

"You're something else," Caleb said. "Well, you want to know what happened, then?"

"Yeah."

Scratching something on his chin, Caleb lunged into his story. "Dawn found a video to combat the one that the prosecution had."

"And what was that?"

"It was a video of me walking down the street after I got freed from the shifter. It showed the time on the video, and it basically made it impossible for me to have been there when Lexa was killed."

"Wow," Dean said under his breath. "So Dawn really saved your ass."

"Yeah, she _really _did. If she hadn't found that video, I probably would have gotten convicted of that, and I would have been staring a life sentence in the face."

Dean nodded, clearly uncomfortable with discussing it. Even though it miraculously hadn't happened, it still made him sick to think about Caleb being subjected to something so horrible.

"And so the jury agreed with Dawn?"

"Yeah," Caleb nodded. "They did, because here I am."

Dean nodded slowly. "What about the fraud sentence?"

That had been a whole other monster they had had to deal with. A year for eight counts of fraud that had been reduced to six months by a sympathetic judge.

"When the not guilty verdict was announced, Dawn asked the judge if I could serve the rest of my sentence on probation, and the judge agreed. There are some conditions attached to it, but it's nothing compared to being stuck in jail for another three months."

"What are the conditions?"

"I have to have a job, which thankfully, I do."

"And it's actually legal," Dean said with a smirk

"Shut up," Caleb laughed.

"And I can't have any arrests while I'm on the probation. I can't leave the town, and I have to be every night by six."

"You have a freakin' _curfew_?"

"Kind of pathetic, isn't it? But hey, as long as it keeps me out of that cell, I'll take it."

Dean nodded. "How often were in there?"

"The cell? Oh, about twenty, twenty-three hours out of the day. If I had a court appearance, that was different, but on most days, I had to suck it up and sit there."

"Wow. How did they...treat you?"

"Just like any other prisoner. I was pretty much the only one who didn't start crap, so they were a little nicer to me than the others."

"That's good."

"Yeah, I know."

Something had been bothering Dean since this whole thing had started. It wasn't much of a _bother _as it was a lingering curiosity.

"How is the jury supposed to feel sympathetic toward you if you're wearing whatever they had you wearing at the jail?"

"They didn't," Caleb calmly explained. "For my appearances, I was allowed to wear a suit, and while they transported me to the courthouse, they had me in restraints, but those came off right before I walked in."

"Right. They actually had you in those cuffs and shackles?" Dean asked sadly.

"Yeah, they did. It was pretty uncomfortable, and it made me feel even worse, but it's part of their policy, Dean, it's nothing personal against me. It's just how they operate when they're dealing with a guy that's accused of murder."

"Yeah. I guess."

"So," Caleb said, quickly changing the subject, "tell me what happened here."

"Nothing much, really," Dean said with a shrug.

Nothing had happened except for the intense pain and longing he had felt while Caleb was gone. Apart from that, he had tried to follow the same routine he had had in place before.

"What happened to your wrists?" Caleb had just noticed the thin purple discoloration on Dean's wrists, as he took one of the injured hands in his to examine it more closely.

It looked mostly healed now, but he was curious as to what had caused the bruises in the first place. In their line of work, and what they allowed Dean to do, it could be anything.

"That's a long story."

"Well, I'm game."

"Bobby took me on one of his cases. A pizza parlor had been built on cursed land, and the spirits were haunting it."

"Wow," Caleb said, looking impressed. "So let me guess: you were right in the line of fire."

"Pretty much," Dean said with a laugh. "The son of a bitch grabbed me, and threw me back."

"Oh, wow. You're lucky."

"Yup."

"So how was it hunting with Bobby?"

Dean shrugged. "Different. It wasn't like it is with you, that's for sure."

That was only because he was so used to hunting with Caleb, that any other style of hunting, would seem foreign to him.

"Well, that's because you're used to the routine we have when we go out."

"Yeah, I guess. I'm glad you're back."

"I am, too."


	37. Chapter 37

By the time Caleb and Dean finished their talk with each other, they were both exhausted from the emotional, huge day they had had. Caleb, from being acquitted of murder and released from jail, and Dean from getting the shock of his life when he walked in and saw him.

They both soon retired to their respective beds, intent on catching as much sleep as they could before the morning rush hour began the next day.

Caleb was sure he was asleep before his head even hit the pillow. Two hours of sleep had been nothing compared to getting a full, uninterrupted night of sleep.

Rolling over on his side, he breathed deeply, contentedly as he drew the warm covers around him. Those beat the thin, worn jail blankets any day of the week.

Seeing the boys, getting a chance to re-bond with them, and see what he had missed while he had been away, had been absolutely priceless to him. It had been the icing on the cake to be able to go out, enjoy a slice of pizza and then have a chance to reconnect with Dean.

There had been so much he couldn't have said in front of Sam, but he and Dean had always shared an open and honest relationship with each other, and he had looked foreword to talking to him one-on-one like they used to, after Sam had gone to bed.

When he woke up the next morning, it took him a second to realize where he was, and how he had gotten there. He fully expected to have woken up in his cell, orange jumpsuit on, and the guards unlocking his cell door for breakfast.

Instead, he had awakened to a much better reality: freedom. Peace. The ability to get up whenever he felt like it, and to have whatever he wanted for breakfast, instead of the slop they served at the detention center.

"Morning!" Sam said brightly, when he saw Caleb walk down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Morning, kiddo," Caleb said, as he teasingly ruffled his hair.

"Are you going to make pancakes?" Sam asked, his lips turning upward into a hopeful, adorable pout.

The boys both loved Caleb's pancakes that he made. Usually, he made them from scratch and according to Dean, they didn't have the crispy edges that Jim's usually had.

"You want some?"

"Duh," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

"Watch it," Caleb warned, but with none of the bite that his tone would have normally held.

Getting out the ingredients for the pancakes, he looked over at Sam and smiled. The eight-year-old was so content with life, so amiable and happy with his lot. It made Caleb cringe, knowing that eventually, he would be forced to give up that innocence, and learn what his family had learned over the years.

It wasn't fair. None of it was. It wasn't fair that a demon had stolen two little boy's lives, it wasn't fair that the hits continually kept coming because of evil. And it wasn't fair that, not too long from then, they would have to start training Sam in order to keep ensuring his safety.

It was only a matter of time before Sam became a target of evil; there was only so much his family could protect him from before he had to learn some of how to defend himself.

"Why were you gone for so long?" Sam asked, as he watched Caleb mix all of the ingredients together, before carefully pouring the gooey mixture on the skillet.

"I had to deal with some boring adult stuff," Caleb said casually, carefully, keeping his eyes on the food cooking before him.

"Working?"

"Yeah. You know that sometimes my job takes me away from here for a little while."

Not that he had any choice in the matter. Once you became involved in the dangerous world of hunting, it was almost impossible to get out of it. Too many lives depending on you, too much at stake.

"Yeah, but for _that _long?"

Dean had mentioned to Caleb that Sam had started asking questions, becoming more and more persistent in Caleb's location, and what he was really doing.

"Sometimes, bud."

Sam was silent for a minute as he gratefully accepted the plate Caleb held out for him. For a few minutes, Sam was only interested in his food, as he chowed down on the food that had been offered to him.

"Then why did Dean start crying ever time we mentioned you?"

Caleb shrugged. "Well, he just missed me. And I know that I missed you both a _lot_."

Out of everyone, Caleb knew that Dean had struggled the most with him leaving. It was more than losing a guardian, it was the fact that Caleb knew Dean _knew _what was really happening, and why he was gone from them.

"Were you in trouble?" Sam asked quietly, not willing to drop the subject.

Even though Sam had, for the most part, kept his suspicions and questions to himself, Caleb knew he had a lot of questions about where he had been, and why he had been gone for those three months.

Caleb sighed, as he walked back over to Sam, and dropped down to his level as he looked at him. "I was in a little trouble, but it wasn't a big deal. I dealt with it, I finished the job and I got home as fast as I could."

"Adult trouble?"

Caleb nodded. "Yeah, but like I said, it wasn't anything to worry about, and I managed to get home."

" Do you _promise _you won't ever leave again?"

Caleb nodded. "I can't guarantee that I won't be gone on a job for a little bit of time, but I promise you that I will _never _be gone that long again."

"Pinkie swear," Sam said seriously, holding up his pinkie in a binding contract.

"You got it," Caleb said, smiling, as he hooked his finger with Sam's.

It wasn't too long before Dean came down, having slept in until the last possible minute until he had to get up and get ready for school.

"Morning, dude," Caleb said, looking over when he took a seat across from Sam. "Want some of my award-winning pancakes?"

"Do you even have to ask me that?" Dean joked, as he rubbed the last of the tiredness from his eyes.

"Guess not," Caleb said, as he put some on Dean's plate. "Sleep good? Or did you have images of blood and guts in your dreams?"

"Definitely the guts," Dean said with a groan.

Before they had gone to bed, Dean had put on a horror flick that had just been released. It had been violent, gory, and something that they both liked to watch now and again.

"Yeah, me too."

"What?" Sam asked, clearly not following the conversation.

"We watched the most _disgusting _movie," Dean said. "You would have _loved _it."

"Can I watch it?" Sam asked eagerly.

"No way," Caleb said, "maybe when you're about twenty."

"Aw man!"

Laughing, Caleb made sure they had their lunches ready for school, and their coats and backpacks ready for their use.

"Make sure you don't miss the bus," Caleb reminded them, as they hung back to finish off the rest of their breakfast.

"We won't," Dean assured him. "Thanks for the breakfast."

"You bet. See you guys later."


	38. Chapter 38

If there was one thing Dean had missed the most while Caleb had been gone, it was their training sessions. Those were the highlight of any afternoon. The bonding time they had together while they worked together, and the wealth of information that Caleb supplied to him during those sessions.

Caleb had been training Dean for years, ever since he had he had found out the horrible truth by accident. A demon had sneaked into Sam's nursery, and Dean had been an unfortunate witness to the bloody aftermath of its death.

For the most part, they stuck to one particular aspect of training, and that was physical combat. It was much easier to fight a foe head-on than anything else, especially on the rare occasions when guns would prove to be useless.

The punching bag was a favorite. Dean loved nothing more than to pouns on the thing as hard as he could. Sometimes, he and Caleb would fight each other, but those were few and far between, with Caleb not wanting to accidentally hurt Dean.

Caleb had promised Dean that they could resume their training sessions after Dean got home from school. That promise had filled Dean with unbridled exultation, as he anxiously zipped through the day, in the hopes of getting home faster.

Of course, since he was so excited to get home, the clock seemed to take notice, and its hands moved slower, more sluggishly than normal. Obviously an attempt to drive him insane, but he gritted his teeth and got through the day without incident.

Once the bus stopped outside their house, he hitched his backpack high on his shoulder, and eagerly made his way inside the lightened house.

"How was school?" Caleb asked, as he came into the room from the living room, where he had been making the first, official check-in call to his probation officer.

"Good," Dean panted, out of breath from racing Sam to the door.

"Awesome. Jim's going to be home in a few minutes, and then you and I can go downstairs, okay?"

"Yeah, that's great."

Even though Dean would have loved to get the show on the road, he supposed that taking a break to catch his breath, wouldn't be the _worst_ thing in the world.

"We're going on a field trip later," Sam said, as he unscrewed the juice cap and poured himself some.

"Where?" Caleb asked, as he handed Sam a sandwich he had made for he and Dean before they had gotten home.

"To some orchard."

"It's an apple orchard," Dean explained, "apparently, it's some boring crap where we'll learn how the first apple was made or something." 

Nothing bored Dean more than history. If it was anything _but _supernatural related, he tried to zone it out as much as he could. It wouldn't serve him any purpose later in life, and he considered those classes pretty much useless to him.

"That sounds..."

"Stupid?" Dean supplied.

"Well-" Caleb began, but was almost immediately interrupted by Sam.

"It is _not _boring, Dean. It's fabinating."

"Fascinating," Caleb corrected him.

"Yeah. It's _fascinating_."

"Whatever you say," Dean said, rolling his eyes, as he dug into his afternoon snack.

"Dean," Caleb warned, when he saw Sam start to get upset.

"I was just saying..."

"I know, just tone it down a notch," Caleb said quietly.

"Fine."

They finished the rest of their snack in peace, before Jim came home from work. His job as a pastor enabled him to have more free time than many others with a full-time job, and he was able to be home more as a result.

"How was school?" he asked, as he hung his coat up in the closet.

"It was school," Dean said, as he looked impatiently at the basement door, and then back at Caleb.

He was anxious to start training. It had been awhile since he had last taken a whack at the punching bag, and his nerves were going insane with the anticipation of a successful session.

"We're going to go downstairs," Caleb said, glancing over at Jim. "I think the kid might kill me if I don't hurry my ass along."

"You got that right," Dean said jokingly. "Let's go!"

"Okay, okay. Jeez!"

Going downstairs, Caleb flipped on the overhead lights as he got out their assorted equipment that they used for their training sessions. The equipment they used varied on what type of exercises they would be doing that afternoon.

The first order of business, was to warm up on the punching bag. Strapping on his boxing gloves, Dean grinned in complete satisfaction, as he took a few quick hits at the tough bag.

"Good job," Caleb praised. "Did you work on this wile I was gone?"

"Yeah, a little bit."

It was the only thing that had even _remotely _distracted him from the pain he had been going through.

"Well, it shows. Your strength is a little bit better than last time."

"Awesome. I think I gained some muscle, too, since last time I saw you."

"Let me see."

Stepping foreword, Caleb laid his hand on the solid muscle tone that Dean had when he clenched his hand into a fist.

"Yeah, I can definitely feel it. Good work."

"Thanks," Dean said, positively beaming with the praise he received, as he stood back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now what?"

All they really did was work on shooting, and punching the bag. It was rare that they graduated to anything else except for when Dean was ready to move on to a new stage in his training.

"I had an idea," Caleb said thoughtfully, as he showed him some rope. "I'm going to teach you some tools on how to get yourself free if you're ever in a situation when the situation calls for it."

"Okay," Dean said, feeling his heart jump in anticipation. "What do I do?"

"Nothing right now. Basically, I'm going to show you how to use a knife or something else sharp to get yourself free. You have to know this stuff in case a human or demonic enemy tries to take you."

It was very important. The only reason Caleb had been able to get away from the shifter, was because he knew how to manipulate rope with the right tools at his disposal.

"Yeah, I see where that would be important."

"First things first," Caleb said, as he laid the rope aside. "Show me how you would get away if someone were to grab you to tie you up."

"I'd kick 'em."

"Right, but what if you can't? What if someone grabs you by surprise and you can't fight back?"

Dean had never really thought of it that way. He had just sort of assumed that he would be able to fight back in some way. The thought had never crossed his mind that he wouldn't always be able to do that.

"I don't know," Dean admitted.

"Well, I'm going to show you. I'm going to grab you, okay, and show you an example."

"Okay," Dean said, as he mentally braced himself to utilize all of the fighting techniques that Caleb had ever taught him.

When Caleb lunged foreword and grabbed his arm, and started towing him to the where he would be tied up, Dean fought back with everything he had, as he tried to imagine Caleb as the enemy, and himself as the helpless victim fighting back.

"Now, normally," Caleb said, as he let go of Dean's arm. "You would be knocked out before all of this, but for the sake of this session, I'll tie you, and you show me how you might get away."

Dean nodded, as he took a seat on the couch, and watched as Caleb brought forth the rope.

"Can't you just use a knife?"

"Sometimes," Caleb said, as he took the hands that Dean held out for him, and started tying his hands behind his back. "But sometimes, you have to recognize when a fight _can't _be won."

Dean nodded, gulping back the lump in his throat. It was hard to imagine there might come a time when he was in a situation he couldn't get himself out of.

After all, until that point, all of their training sessions had been devoted to teaching him how to fight and defend himself.

"Okay," he finally said, as he tried breaking out of the rope that Caleb had tied around his wrists, binding them together. "So what do you do if you don't have a weapon to cut the rope?"

"Well, honestly, if you don't have _something _to help you, you're pretty much screwed unless someone finds you, but for the sake of this practice session, I'll give you something to work with."

"Okay."

Reaching for the knife that he had sheathed on his hip, Caleb laid the silver dagger a few inches from his tied hands. "Alright, see if you can reach that."

Dean nodded, as he used every ounce of concentration he had to try to reach the life-saving tool. Trying to think of this as a real situation, he panted in the slightest as he anchored his body as much toward it as he possibly could.

"Got it."

His fingers had finally closed around the smooth handle of it.

"Good," Caleb said, as he reached behind Dean and took the knife from him. "I'll show you what you do to untie yourself, and then you can do it next time."

"Alright."

Reaching behind him, Caleb carefully (and slowly, so Dean would see what he was doing, and _how _he was doing it), cut the ropes that had been binding his wrists.

"You see how I did that?"

"Yeah."

"Good. It's not always possible to have a knife or something else that's sharp, at your disposal. That's why, it's good to train your mind," he said, tapping the side of his head, "to know when a fight can't be won."

"Right."


	39. Chapter 39

Not being able to hunt was hard. Usually, Caleb was used to researching a case to his hearts content, and then rushing off to whatever state or town required his services. Because of his probation deal, he wasn't allowed to leave the limits of the town he was in.

If he was going to find a case, it would have to be local. Even though he was going slightly stir crazy being stuck in the house when he wasn't working, there was no way he would risk going back to that cell just because he wanted to go on a thrill ride.

He knew the probation office had their eyes on him, and he knew without a doubt, the prosecutor would love any reason to put him back behind bars. Such was the sadistic nature of his attitude.

"Hey," Dean said, as he came into the living room after school, as he dumped his bags on the couch.

"How was school?" Caleb asked, as he bent his head low to investigate a series of strange sightings that had been reported in the newspaper.

He didn't know what it was, but more and more, he had been getting wind of potential cases. More so than the usual four or five he got a year.

"Good," Dean said with a shrug. "What are you doing?"

"Looking up cases," Caleb said, as he put the paper aside, scrubbing a hand over his face. "More and more, I'm seeing demonic possessions. Normally, you get the odd two or three _tops_."

"And so now what?"

"Now, it's happening all over the place. Same with the monsters. I've read about five different witness accounts of seeing something that _really _sounds like a Shtriga, or a werewolf."

Dean gulped as he sat down next to him, looking over his shoulder at the strange sightings that were being reported right before his eyes.

He was used to this. Used to finding cases and helping his family investigate and solve them. Having so many in such a short amount of time, _was _strange.

Either the demons had been holding out on them, and were now choosing to act up, or people were stone cold crazy. Dean knew better than to believe the latter. Not with their luck and how it continually chose to stab them in the back.

"So what do you want to do? Go investigate it?"

"Can't," Caleb said. "I'm on house arrest unless I'm working."

That was hard. Thankfully, he only had another month to go and then he would be free.

"Oh. That's right. How much longer?"

"About another month."

"Crap."

The law certainly hadn't made it easy for them to continue saving lives, and ridding the world of evil. In fact, they had made it that much _harder._

"It's okay," Caleb assured him. "For awhile, I thought I'd be happy if I never saw another hunt again."

"True."

"But, you know how it is..."

"Once you see something that you _know _is from something supernatural, it makes it impossible _not _to help."

"Exactly."

Especially when something funky was going on in that strange, unpredictable and dangerous world. Never before had evil been so conspicuous in their movements, and how they chose to move among the human world.

It concerned Caleb greatly.

It wasn't just _his _life he was worried about. Any poor, unfortunate human could become the next meatsuit of whatever demon decided to take a stab at them next.

And the boys would be in the line of fire.

Even though they had tried to hold off on telling Sam as little as possible about the supernatural world, Caleb now realized with a sinking realization that the time was now drawing ever closer where they would _have _to tell him so he would know how to defend himself.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked quietly.

"Just thinking," Caleb replied quietly. "How much things are going to have to change."

"What do you mean?"

After the absolute hell he had been through with Caleb leaving, and the trial that had followed, he was sure he would be glad if he never had another change in his life.

"With Sammy," Caleb said, tears filling his brown eyes as he stared at the twelve-year-old.

"You mean with telling him about all this?"

"Yeah," Caleb said, as he pulled an arm around Dean, drawing him close. "Yeah."

Dean was silent as he exhaled deeply. The last thing he ever wanted was for his brother to become involved in this life, even though he knew the end result would be inevitable.

Sam would be just as much of a target as he was, and it would be irresponsible _not _to teach him.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean nodded. "It's not your fault. I know that we have to."

As his tears of disappointment and anger fell down his face, he tried wiping them away with little luck. Thinking about his brother learning how to fight, learning how to kill, was something that was absolutely repulsive to him, but necessary if he wanted to survive in this world.


	40. Chapter 40

**Epilogue**

"More and more demons are walking among us."

Those had been the exact words that Bobby had spoken to them, when Caleb and Jim had brought up their concerns over the state of the world, to him. It wasn't a cheerful statement, and in fact, it only ignited more worry and strife in their already chaotic lives.

Caleb's probation was over. He was now free to travel wherever he wanted to, and be home as little or as much as he pleased.

It certainly helped to be allowed to travel for cases, even though he was definitely more careful with how he conducted his dealings, and was always now on the lookout for anything that might get the jump on him.

The last thing he needed was another murder case thrown at his face.

Dean couldn't agree more-things had slowly started getting back to normal after Caleb had been allowed to come home. The worry he felt whenever Caleb left the house, had eased in the slightest, enabling him to relax more.

But he couldn't.

Not entirely.

A few demonic possessions had been reported near their town. The evil in the world, was rapidly drawing closer to them, leaving them with the strangest sense of being cornered as they tried to draw on whatever training and expertise they possessed, to fend them off.

"Dean?"

Dean had been calmly sitting in his room, reading. It was one of the few places he could find peace and quiet when he needed it.

"Yeah, Sam?"

The eight-year-old was gazing anxiously at him, as he invited himself further into his room, situating himself on his bed.

"I want to know the truth."

"The truth? About _what_?"

This couldn't be good. Sam never approached someone with a direct question like that, unless he had hard proof to back up whatever he was talking about.

"Are monsters real?"

Pulling out their Dad's journal from behind his back, Sam plopped it down on the bed.

"Where did you get that?" Dean demanded, as he harshly crossed over to where Sam was sitting, and yanked the journal from him.

It had been a gift from Caleb a few years back. Dean had hid the journal, not wanting anyone or _anything _to disturb it.

"I found it."

"I see that."

"Are they real?"

Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face as he took a seat next to his brother. He knew that they needed to tell Sam about the world of the supernatural, but they hadn't been able to bring themselves to do it yet.

Sam was so full of innocence and light, that none of them could imagine dampening his spirits by awakening him to the harsh reality of what was happening behind his back.

"You _don't _want to know."

"I _do_."

"Sam-"

"Dean, please! I'm old enough now. I can handle the truth."

Dean turned briefly from Sam, clenching his eyes shut tightly in order to ward off the irksome tears that were threatening to fall.

"Are you _sure _you want to know?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, fine."

* * *

_This is the final chapter of "Where There's Smoke There's Fire." I know that I have said that this is the quote un quote "final story", but I set up the last two chapters of this story to kind of segue into another story I have had tentative ideas for. _

_I love this 'verse I created. I love the sense of simplicity and love that Sam and Dean have around them with Caleb and Jim, even though they have to hunt. It's not an everyday thing for them, like it was with John. I like the bond those boys have forged with Jim and especially Caleb. And I'm just not ready to give that up. _

_So, if ideas strike, I will write them. I am excited about the ideas I am getting for this 'verse. And while I do not know when I will have the time (or muse) to write another story to do justice (in my mind) to this one, I will certainly write it out when I possibly can and post._

_In the meantime, I will continue to post new updates for "These Unseen Moments." Hopefully, fingers crossed, I will be able to post another full-length story soon. Time and, like I obnoxiously stated before, muse permitting._

_I would also like to take the time to properly thank each and every single person who has EVER reviewed, favorited or offered support to me: _

_AlecDeanFan-thank you SO SO much for every single review you have EVER left for me with these stories. Your reviews honestly put a smile on my face like you would not believe. Thank you for your support. I can't wait for you read my future projects where this 'verse is concerned._

_BranchSuper-Thank you for offering your words of encouragement to me in this story and in the other one. I cannot thank you enough for pointing out things that needed fixing, and just in general, being a good reviewer._

_becca65d-Thank you in spades for reviewing my work! _

_LoveIsAllYouNeed96-Thank you for the review! It honestly means so much to me:)_

_Phew! Catch you all when I post the next story/installment! _

_Peace!_


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